One year ago, I was nesting. I was over seven months pregnant and my desire to organize (which operates at a frenetic pace like a hamster racing on a wheel during even typical non-nesting life) was kicked up a notch. One Saturday in March I surveyed our unattractively mismatched bedroom furniture and settled on a brilliant idea: I would refurbish the entire suite.
I started working that day.
I emptied dresser drawers, cleared off the nightstands, disassembled the bed frame, and asked Joel to carry each cumbersome piece downstairs into the garage. I'll take care of the rest, I assured him, and being an intuitive man, he nodded, moved the furniture, and let the pregnant woman do what she intended to do.
Over the next several weeks I spent my free time in the garage with both doors opened for ventilation. I suspect that more than one neighbor shook his or her head when they saw me, dust mask and safety goggles donned, as I bent over my protruding stomach and fired up the power sander in the driveway.
Never underestimate a woman who's nesting.
I sanded and wiped down each piece, and then primed them with the first coat of paint in Java Brown, a color that came out much more like a Crayola crayon than the rich espresso that I had envisioned.
Here it might be good to add that as a woman who began this endeavor while past the third trimester mark, I was equally headstrong and indecisive. The "headstrong" is what got the project up and running. The indecision is what caused me to eventually change my mind, ditch the Java Brown, and finish the final two coats in a classic black.
I modernized the outdated brass hardware with brushed nickle spray paint.
When each piece was drying in the garage, I turned my attention to the bedroom itself. The furniture already had been moved, I figured, and it wouldn't be that much more work to paint the walls, right?
Because this is how I think when I'm pregnant.
One coat of primer and two coats of Natural Taupe later, we had ourselves a new bedroom. Joel and a college student we know carried the furniture back upstairs and shimmed each piece into place.
The baby was born not quite two weeks later. She has since left our bedroom.
In contrast, my alarm clock, which I placed directly on the ledge of our headboard the day that we moved the furniture back into our room, remains permanently affixed on that ledge to this day.
The moral of this story? One, there is no way I'd have enough energy now to take on such a task. Nesting is a powerful force.
Two, even if you're certain that it's dry to the touch, let repainted furniture dry much longer than you think is reasonable before placing objects on it. You'll thank me for this.