Nurseries? Really?
I’m a thinker. I like to know about my world and understand how and why it works. In my continuing quest to achieve these ends, I have discovered yet another facet of life that baffles me. Simply put, I don’t understand nurseries. I know that a family which is about to welcome a new baby into their lives needs a room in which to keep the baby’s bed, his or her diapering supplies and such, tiny clothes, etc, but I don’t understand the need for a nursery, in the modern sense.
It's the presidential suite at Chez Baby!
Look at the above room. Notice the various “cute” decorations. Perhaps my status as an unmarried and childless man has led me astray once again, but I just don’t understand what’s going on in that room. Notice the letters “S-E-A-N” arranged atop what appears to be one of those handy racks upon which one could hang a jacket or car keys. The baby cannot read his name, and his parents are likely to introduce him to anyone who visits. “Hang on, Marge…they didn’t tell us the baby’s name…this is going to be awkward…Oh, wait…look there…apparently, he’s called Sean.” Also, the baby cannot reach the peg-hooks to hang up his coat or car keys.
Continuing to examine the room, one notices several pictures of frogs. Baby Sean has never been to the swamp, probably, and certainly has absolutely no idea what a frog is. Indeed, the large tapestry featuring the Benevolent FrogFather smiling down on Sean’s crib just might lead him to grow up believing in some sort of omnipresent, poorly-drawn amphibious god. Other accoutrement present in the nursery include a reading lamp that Baby Sean can use when he hits the books after sundown, blue ribbons which he requires in order to accent the color of his eyes, and a chandelier, which is handy because, well, chandeliers are swanky.
The fact that everything in the room, with the exception of the crib, serves no purpose whatsoever to the baby contained therein seems ridiculous to me. Newsflash, Mom and Dad: Sean won’t remember a thing about this room when he’s six years old, much less when he’s 16 or 36. You’re decorating this room for yourselves and for your friends. This is where my understanding of the situation falls apart completely. Go to your favorite search engine, gentle reader, and search the terms “nursery decorations.” You’ll find that, generally speaking, they’re quite expensive. I’d wager that Mom and Dad have spent at least $500 on painting and decorating Sean’s nursery, a room that he won’t remember in the least. Five hundred bucks isn’t exactly a fortune, I know, but for a family that’s about to spend literally thousands and thousands of dollars on diapers, baby food, formula, tiny clothes, strollers, cribs, car seats, bottles, and hundreds of other baby items this bachelor has yet to even discover, it seems that five hundred dollars could be made much more useful.
Am I a stick in the mud? A curmudgeon? A utilitarian? Perhaps. I’m just trying to understand the world.
