Despite the fact that my husband and I have been thinking about possible babies for about a year and I have been constantly surrounded by my friends’ adorable children and their equally adorable accoutrements for closer to two years, I have, for the most part, held off on hoarding baby things. I blame this on my superstitious Jewish maternal heritage. For instance, it is against Jewish tradition to name a baby after someone who is still alive, as doing so is akin to setting a death wish upon the living person you’ve just honored with a namesake. There are effectively no “juniors” in my family (although, curiously, my grandfather has a cousin with his exact same name – maybe the curse only works vertically down generations, and not across them?). So anyway, I blame Judaism for my lack of baby hope chest. To hoard baby things is to hope, and to hope is to invite all of Murphy’s Law to rain down on me.
Cut to: I was perusing my local Ross, armed with store credit from Christmas/Hanukkah gift returns, when I stumbled upon something I just absolutely needed for a future child’s room. I needed it. It was $20 and it was in my cart just as quickly as it took my nervous system to process that need and jump into action. It is a fairly sizable plywood wall hanging with the lyrics to “You Are My Sunshine” shellacked onto it and it is going to be the first thing put up in whatever nursery we have whenever we have one because it reminds me of all the times my mom sang that song to me when I was hurt or scared or sleepy as a child.
It was our song and I love it. I must, because it inspired me to throw caution to the wind and begin my baby hoard.