First Impressions

As if this baby were a mini-Martha Stewart, I have begun to worry about how our house looks and whether it is ready for a visitor with consummate taste and white kid gloves to check the dust level. When we moved in the house, the basement was a dump – I mean that literally and figuratively because the previous owners had left behind a whole bunch of their crap and, following suit, their dog had also left behind a whole bunch of his crap. We were doing about a million things when we moved in, so we cleaned what we could in the basement and then pretty much shut the door and avoided it for the last year. On Sunday I forced us to tackle the situation and clean out the basement. Now, if our infant wants to look at the hot water heater or needs a hammer for any reason, the room will not put me to shame. I am also trying to remove all of my stuff from our second bedroom so that the baby will immediately have a room to itself. This means cramming our tiny bedroom with furniture to the point where there is hardly an inch to maneuver, but if our child wants to just shut the door and get away from it all, he or she will be able to. In my very best case scenario, our baby would not see any torn screens on the porch and come home to a side yard that is not full of weeds taller than its parents. And in a perfect world there would be tidy garden beds, but I am fairly certain any offspring of mine won’t know the difference in that category, so I’m ok with letting that one go.