This is our nursery. It has all the personality of a Russian orphanage. We keep meaning to add color, a cute bedding set, a mobile, wall decorations (etc., etc.), but instead we just keep walking in and out of it, looking glum and lamenting its sad state.
What happened to the nesting instinct? I mean, I walk around with a box of Clorox wipes in my hand, but that's been the extent of it. Leigh said if I were an actual bird, I'd have one of those fucked-up nests made out of dental floss and toilet paper and shards of broken glass.
1 comment:
Well, at least there's a mattress in the crib now.
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