So yesterday I went to the outlets again in search of more mongolian fur pillows, but they were all gone -- probably because I broadcast the message of cheap West Elm stuff far and wide, which was incredibly altruistic of me. But also maybe not so smart for a bargain hoarder. Anyhow, I ended up buying this:

[Not my house! See the entire nursery here]

While it would be a total score if I could walk into an outlet and buy this whole room, I was still pretty happy about snagging that bassinet for half price:

Isn't it cute? So cute that no fewer than five middle aged women told me how their ovaries just melted before I could even stuff it into the car.

So I wheeled my fancy new bassinet into the bedroom next to the bed, where I plan to house Baby X after I hit the ejector seat, and then I went to sleep.

And then the nightmares started.

This whole pregnancy, throughout all the complications and bed rest, I've been in total denial that we actually have a baby coming. I didn't want to get too attached in the beginning because Baby X might not make it. And also my experience with Little Infant Ike was not exactly a cakewalk -- he wouldn't eat or sleep. He colic cried for four months straight. My nipples cracked and blistered and bled until he was six months old. He slept (or didn't sleep) for eight months in our bed. I did everything I could to be a "good mom," but I seemed to fail miserably. Still he was cute and smart as all get out, and most importantly he was healthy, so I just buckled down and made it work because that's what parents do...

Now there is a crib in our bedroom again.

When I woke up at 3am and looked over, it reminded me of nothing so much as a lawnmower, coming straight at me Stephen King style. I tossed and turned for hours, wondering how I'm going to make this work again. I finally have a kid that is relatively self sufficient, and now I'm starting all over? W. T. F.

I worried about the blog -- who's going to take over while I'm recovering? Will anyone read when I come back? Does it even make sense for me to blog at all anymore?

I worried about my livelihood, not just for money but for my sense of self worth -- I haven't taken a photo or decor job since I went on bed rest.

I worried about Ike -- he's not going to be happy to share the spotlight.

I worried about our marriage -- having a newborn is stressful.

I worried about my mental health -- I don't think I need to elaborate on this one.

I'm 10 weeks away from my due date, and of course I'm still worrying about furniture and paint and wallpaper and kitchen cabinets, because those are things I can control (barely). There's progress in there somewhere.

So I apologize if I sound crazy and stressed and wishy washy. And if it seems like I'm incapable of making decisions for myself, it's because I am.

I just wanted to say thank you for being here and reading, for indulging my hysteria (using that term with the original root in mind). It helps more than you know. I feel a little ridiculous and sappy sentimental saying that, but it's true.