Borrows Trouble.

That would be my Native American name. Or maybe "Mountain out of Molehill."

I positively worked myself into a lather about taking the baby to day care. By Sunday night, tossing and turning all night, I had convinced myself that Av would be in a situation little better than an Eastern Bloc orphanage. No interaction. No touching. Crying all day. Miserable without her mother.

So this was what I was expecting on Monday. And now three days in, it's nowhere near what we got. Av has lovely teachers who genuinely love kids and want to teach them about the world. She goes outside in the 9-man buggy every day. She naps--for longer than 20 minutes--in a crib. (She's yet to set foot in her crib at home.) And she's so nonchalant about it all; like, "See ya, mom." It's really a lesson for me. This is what she's like pretty much all the time:

Even I have managed to get organized and keep myself from breaking down when I drop her off. We are both in a good place. It's nice to be back at work and feel like myself again. I am a new self, mostly, but I am recognizing old pieces of me. Which is good.

Pumping at work: not even that big of a deal. Though I positively live in fear of someone opening the door on me. Won't that make a good story. Har har.

Working mom.

So you're telling me that I'm supposed to leave this three-month old child--nay, baby--with strangers for six hours a day? That's I'm supposed to hope that she will get a modicum of attention in a room of nine other babies, some sitting, some crawling, some that can't hold their own heads up yet?

I know, I know. This is a first-world problem. I had 10 out of 12 weeks of my maternity leave paid for by my company, and my boss is beyond supportive of work/life balance. She's agreed to let me go down to 30 hours a week, work from home when possible, and take advantage of flexible scheduling. I can pick up Av at day care at 2:00 and still have the afternoon to play and go on walks. We can financially afford for me to go down to 30 hours. In all these things I am luckier than most.

I want to keep working. I don't want to walk away from my career because I am not convinced that I will get it back. But how I want to spend my time has radically changed. I, like every other working mom, surely, want it all. (Except for pumping. I don't want to have to pump twice a day at work. Oy vey.)

When I really want to punish myself, I think about how this is likely the only time in her life that I will have months to spend with her without day care or school.

I just wish I had three more months with her. Three months seems so young, so little. I have been dreading this transition. But I'm sure that after a couple weeks we'll have settled into a routine that works for all of us.

Special blankie.

Please feast your eyes on what my dear friend Erin can do.

One, two, three.

How did this happen?

Newbie

1 month

2 months

3 months

How bewildering becoming a parent is. And I choose the word "becoming" rather than "being" here because it was and is absolutely a process. The first two weeks of A's life were the hardest of mine. I could not see joy, I could not see reward, I could not see a time when I wouldn't be nursing every hour. All I could see were the trees--there was no way there was a forest in there.

And then, gradually, things started to change. The mantle of "parent" went from being several sizes too large to starting to fit. I started to understand what all the fuss was about.

Helps that this baby could not be more of an angel or be any cuter.

I'm pretty blessed.

Nursery.

Let's take a tour, shall we?

The tower used to be in our bathroom, repurposed here as a feeding-supply station. New drawer pull from Hobby Lobby on sale. The canvas with the quote from Anne of Green Gables is from my college besties. I've had the lamp forever, but added green flowered trim to the top and bottom of the shade. The wrought iron used to hang in the open loft window, but now I'm using it to display what I wore to meet my paternal grandparents. (It was the 70s, so I suppose "dresses" that short were de rigour.) It won't surprise you to know that there's a cat embroidered on there.

My mom made these curtains from the Amy Butler fabric I picked out. Sorry about the picture quality; we're still operating on a busted old camera. The chair was Chris's reading chair, whose orange 60s/70s fabric was thankfully covered by a neutral chair cover. I "sewed" the trim onto the blue pillows, and used a scrap of leftover fabric as a background for the shadow box. I've had the shadow box for ages, a PB Outlet find.

The long wall next to the chair is the loft wall, where a 7' x 4' opening makes the wall next to useless. So I re-repurposed the door I salvaged from my neighbor in Memphis, which used to be our desk, into a partial wall, and then made it into a bookshelf. The front-facing shelves are $4 Ikea spice racks. I hung a shower curtain to close off the rest of the loft opening, but there's going to need to be a longer-term solution eventually.

Here's the changing table, lined with more Amy Butler fabric. The diaper with Avonlea's name on it is Erin's handiwork. And, uh, don't worry--that's a stuffed cat on the changing table. Certainly not a real one grooming himself.

One of my favorite things is this butterfly wall. Yes, it's a bit Mariah Carey, but I still love it.

Take a look at this bedding (but ignore the plastic-wrapped mattress): my mom made this! It's hard to tell in this picture, but the fabric is actually really bright and vibrant.

Adorable alphabet cards above the crib from, of all places, Anthropologie. And I swear they are more centered aboved the crib than they appear here. I really need a new camera.

And my greatest bargain: this Pottery Barn Teen rug that matches the fabric exactly...and was only $35 at the outlet.

Just missing a baby.