Thursday, 28 May 2015

Nursery to Big Boy Room

In an effort to distract my troubled mind I've thrown myself into projects this week. 

Cupboards are being emptied, walls are getting painted, clutter is being sorted, further plans are being made and the house looks like an enormous pile of rubbish has been dumped right on top of our busy household.

The boys' sleeping situation is also being reassessed and it occurred to me that I haven't really shared (except on Instagram) the changes we've made to Rohan's room this year.

I had fun trawling through the photo archives and remembering what the room looked like two and a half years ago. So, let's travel back to his blissful, calming nursery. *insert magical time travel music here*

There are were so many things I loved about this room. The gallery wall - with the chalk drawing of a giraffe that Liam did for his brother, the mobile I made by revamping the one we had for Hamish, the soft blue accents that featured throughout the room and the incredible patchwork quilt my Mum made.

I made bunting to match the quilt...
and set up my favourite chair for feeding babies in...

Remember when I made the bookcase rainbow coloured? It was such a relaxing space to be in.

Then, when it came time to move him out of the cot we decided to start with a mattress on the floor, give him time to get used to it and then find the perfect big boy bed.

I chose this gorgeous new Adairs bedding to continue that soft blue but transition the mood to suit an energetic three year old. The "To the moon and back" cushion and letter bunting are from Cotton On Kids Room.
Although, I think the Ikea shelving with that adorable Little Rosie and Me pom pom garland are my favourite part...

So far the new bed has been great for jumping on and cuddling brothers on...

I also got a bit distracted looking at old photos. Can we take a moment to appreciate the wonder that is 18 month old Rohan with his first-curl, fairy floss hair and chicken-drumstick thighs. *Sigh*
 
On a personal note, a thousand "thank you"s to everyone who has sent such kind words and messages to me. It meant so much to feel so much love from this incredible online community of mine. Healing is happening.

Monday, 25 May 2015

The Box of Hopes and Dreams

There's a cardboard box sitting in the corner of my bedroom. 

This is not unusual. In my never-ending war on clutter I seem to be constantly taking one step forward and two steps back. Also, I'm almost positive children's toys breed while we are sleeping. 

This box, like most of the boxes in my room - the rest of which fit tucked away under the bed - is filled with clothing. 

And like those other boxes, this one is filled with clothes that no longer fit the adorable little bodies that run around my home. 

But unlike those other boxes - the ones which are, of course, carefully packed away, filled with vacuum-sealed clothes, labelled according to size and patiently waiting for someone to grow into them - this box is filled with clothing that all of my boys have grown out of. Clothes that no other little person in our family is waiting to slip into. 

A couple of years ago these clothes were placed together in this box in a cheerful, hopeful 'maybe one more' pile. They were even subtly - but not too hopefully - separated into 'baby boy' and 'gender neutral' piles of sweetness. 

And about fifteen months ago - when we decided to turn that maybe into a slightly more active 'let's let fate decide' - that box truly became a box of hopes and dreams.  A box of delicious anticipation. A box which represented my dreams of the future taking flight and a box which, upon glancing at it, would fill my mind with visions of snuggling a tiny newborn wrapped up in one of the even tinier little onesies that had lovingly adorned his (or her) big brothers. 

My Mother's Day gift this year was the most incredible gift a hopeful parent can get. Those two little lines on a stick that represent a future filled with so much potential. 

Sadly. Oh so very, very, soul-crushingly sadly it turned out that little dream was not meant to be. 

I now have a cardboard box sitting in the corner of my room that makes weep. I've cried so many tears this past fortnight that I'm not entirely sure I have any more left in me. 

I'm troubled by this box and it's contents. I hadn't truly believed until now that my little maybe could be an improbability. I've been floating in a sea of unknowns and trying desperately hard not to drown in my sorrows. How can you not abandon all hope when fate is clearly sending you a message?

I've always been one of those people who reassure their troubled friends and family that 'things happen for a reason' and that 'the right thing happens at the right time'. I've always been able to deliver these missives with confidence and often heard the news of their dream jobs or the joyful, long-awaited arrival of a baby feeling a little smug. Because I was right. Have hope and the universe will deliver.

Hopeful me is telling devastated me the same things now - every time I happen to glance at that box in the corner - and, frankly, I just want to slap her! Smug little know-it-all cow. Doesn't she know how hard it is to maintain your hope when it's been boxed up for so long?