Define /nesting/ adjective
According to the American Pregnancy Association, nesting can be defined as the urge to clean and organize; or the overwhelming desire to get your home ready for your new baby. Seems simple enough, yes? Not for me.
Planning
My husband, mother, and I became licensed foster parents in October 2022. We were technically licensed for age newborn to 18. However, we chose a preference of newborn to age 8. My mother and I were pushing for a newborn. My husband was pushing for an 8 year old. (Less poopy diapers.)
Logistically speaking, I wanted to know how to design a bedroom that aesthetically accommodated newborns through elementary school age children. I also wanted to know what other foster parents had in their homes prior to getting a placement. How permanent should the items be? How do you get them without breaking the bank? Most of the parents looked at me like I was crazy. Their goal was to give the kids something. My goal was to give the kids everything. The experienced parents told us to “just get the basics” and to get the rest as we need them, but I was impatient. I was too excited to dive in.
My plan was to buy a bunch of highly rated, permanent furniture. “These poor children will show up to our doorstep sight unseen with a garbage bag full of their belongings. The least we can do is give them a super nice bedroom. Plus, we can blow our friends and family away with our great choices.”
At the minimum, that the room had to be adaptable and efficient. I had to start thinking creatively, not emotionally. For example, we didn’t need a king sized mattress if we got a baby. We didn’t need a crib if we got a six year old. What did we need?
I started with baby age. What kind of crib is most adaptable? The grow with you kind? What about the mattress? Dresser? Bassinet? Changing table? Rocking chair? Pack and play? Swing? What about a stroller? Car seat? Carrier? Baby bath? Then, I thought about diapers, swaddles, crib sheets, baby monitors, noise machines, diaper pails, humidifiers, diaper bags, creams, body wash, bottles, nipples, and bibs. The list was adding up, and that was only for babies.
Shopping
I spent hours creating a list of things we’d need for all sizes and genders in our age range. I spent even more hours slimming the list down. At some point, I said “screw it,” and treated myself to a day of shopping. It felt naughty. We hadn’t even received our foster licenses in the mail yet, but the American Pregnancy Association was right about the overwhelming desire. I was so desperate to shop for kid stuff that my lists and logic abandoned ship. And I wasn’t even pregnant.
“Yay! I can finally shop in the little kids department! Cute clothes! Toy research! Bunk beds with slides! Montessori! Mom books! Let’s drive to the nearest Pottery Barn Kids and spend our live savings! I’m going to get those bandanas for my dogs that say ‘child on the way!’ #MomLife!”
A day of shopping turned into a week of psycho bargain hunting. I dug through thrift store bins. I stalked local neighborhoods for curbside throwaways. I browsed every dollar store in the tristate area. I joined every “new mom, free stuff” Facebook group. In doing so, my Pinterest board came to life. Yes, I even bought a sad, beige onesie. (Don’t make fun. You want it too.) I didn’t know it at the time, but I was nesting. I was happy.
Safety
I damn near bought out every item at the local Harris Teeter. I had so much gauze. Way too much gauze. And cups. I had every themed Band-Aid, pain reliever, and medical kit. I ordered and installed a myriad of baby proofing products. Medications and alcohol were stored in lock boxes. I bleach bathed every item that came into the house. You could have performed open heart surgery on our kitchen counter. My husband designed a map of each floor of our home, equipped with a color coded key, fire exits, and emergency contact information. I was fueled by our success. For once, I trusted myself. I was confident. I was proud.
Hoarding
While my buying slowed to none, my mom went slightly overboard. I’ve always had low grade baby fever, but she has hyperpyrexia baby fever. So by slightly, I mean she filled eight plastic totes with children’s clothing. The totes had every color, gender, and theme imaginable, ranging from size preemie to size 14/16. It was fun to see my mom light up when she showed me her latest bargain. It was fun to to spend that special time with her. It was fun to have permission and reason to buy these things. It was fun to feel like I was entering the next stage of my life.
Fighting
Sadly, the growing pile caused tension in the household. There was crap everywhere. We’d blown the budget, and we weren’t even parents yet. Part of me stopped contributing to the pile simply because I wanted the fighting to stop. Part of me wanted to throw half of the items away because they weren’t exactly what I imagined. Most impactfully, part of me was mad.
I was mad that nesting was causing so much conflict. I was mad that I couldn’t get what I wanted, how I wanted it, when I wanted it, and where I wanted it. I was mad that I couldn’t have a baby shower or a registry. (This was not for lack of trying on my mom’s part. She offered, but I felt it was premature or inappropriate. I felt like I didn’t deserve it or shouldn’t have it yet.) I was mad that I didn’t feel like a mom yet. I was mad that I didn’t just buy the darn blanket. I was mad that I kept second guessing myself. I was mad that I was full of “what ifs.” I was mad that my “nesting” felt limited or restricted. I was mad that other women had the opportunity to nest traditionally. I was mad that my intrusive thoughts told me I should save the “dream items” for when I’m really a mom.
“I shouldn’t waste my nursery theme on this room because I would have to tweak it for age-range appropriateness. Then, it’s like I wasted it. Just do the second best everything. That’s safer, emotionally and financially.”
This shift in mindset was a detriment to my nesting process. As an all-or-nothing kind of person, not allowing myself to launch a full ADHD, balls-to-the-wall, passion project resulted in numbness. Deep down, was I convinced the placement wouldn’t happen? And that resulted in a wall of protection? Anyone’s guess.
While my mom continued to buy items, I swiftly reeled in my buying, research, and in a way, my caring. Whenever my mom showed me a cute toy that she found in the thrift store, all I could do was nod my head with acknowledgement. In order to truly be happy at the time, I would have needed enough money to buy all of my dream items for every age, and I needed space to store it away. Or, I had to accept that my nesting experience was different, but still nesting. I had to give myself grace in terms of “not feeling like a mom” because of the circumstance under which we were getting a kid. I had to accept that if I nested wholeheartedly and it didn’t work out that it wasn’t a waste or a loss.
Prep for Night One
I made my way into the garage, which is where we housed the hoard. It had grown. Now, there were bikes, basket ball hoops, trampolines, cars, scooters, chalk kits, beach kits, balls, you name it. I realized that buying everything for every age and gender is unrealistic.
As a family, we decided to focus on what we would need for night one. “Let’s get 1 or 2 adaptable items like a pack and play and an adaptable bunk bed. We’ll get the rest when we know what the placement needs.” I was frustrated by the chronic waiting, but revitalized by the idea of future nesting. We strategically placed a few of my dream items around the house. We bought a small variety of non perishables to keep in the pantry. We bought little backpacks that housed treats and toys. A “welcome to your new house” goody bag. We had a car seat for each car, and we had pajamas for every kind of child.
The Bunk Bed
Something clicked when I saw the bunk bed. The pieces had been laying unboxed in the hallway for weeks. One day, a flurry of motivation overcame my husband, and he assembled most of the bed by himself. One piece was broken, so we weren’t able to stack the beds right away. Still, part of it was assembled, and I teared up when we put the mattress on top. It was real. A child was coming. My giddiness was back. It was cautious, but it was back. I glanced around the room. The items we’d picked out along the way decorated the furniture. To my surprise, they looked all good. It looked like a kid’s room. It was all cohesive somehow. It was cheerful. I laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I shed the biggest, corniest smile. I nested successfully, and the emotional distance I’d given myself allowed me to see the nearly finished room with fresh eyes. I wish I could live in that moment.
Wrap Up
The foster classes, panels, and internet browses didn’t give me consistent answers in terms of what to buy for a foster bedroom. It turns out everyone’s answer is a little different. Some people feel fully prepared with the basics. Bed, toothbrush. Some wait to hear more about their placement prior to nesting. Some are up and running with a “Disney’s Frozen” theme before they finish their foster class. It’s all correct.
If I had to do it all over again, I’d allow myself to experience the joy of nesting. Yes. It’s very hard to nest when you don’t know who you’re bringing home or when they’re coming, but I shouldn’t let anyone, especially my own intrusive thoughts and imposter syndrome, get in the way of my fun. Paint the room. Nail things to the wall. YOLO that room!
So what is nesting? I think nesting is a combination of things. It’s you deciding what kind of parent you want to be and to whom. It’s you treating yourself to the $15 “Mom” mug on Amazon. It’s you feeling a range of emotions. It’s you browsing stores and aisles that you hadn’t previously. It’s you being excited. It’s you being confused. It’s you being nervous. It’s you being sad. It’s you spending too much money. It’s you trying to give your gift-happy family some guidance. It’s you navigating your fight or flight response. It’s you being too anxious and overwhelmed to make decisions. It’s evading intrusive thoughts. It’s buying too much. It’s waiting it out. It’s figuring it out. It’s returning the thing you bought. It’s making it work. It’s cleaning. It’s organizing. It’s buying. It’s researching. It’s learning. It’s all of it. So fly mama and dada birds! Find your sticks! Make your nest.
Articles We Referenced Along Our Journey
https://mybraveguide.com/2020/02/14/how-to-set-up-a-bedroom-for-foster-care/
https://www.fosteringpeople.co.uk/resources/blogs/latest-blogs/how-to-decorate-a-foster-child-s-bedroom/
https://www.excelfostering.com/knowledge-centre/5-foster-child-bedroom-ideas
https://www.project127.org/what-youll-need-to-prepare-a-room-for-foster-care.html
Preparing a Bedroom for Foster Care
https://www.capstonefostercare.co.uk/knowledge-centre/how-to-prepare-a-foster-childs-bedroom
https://adoption.com/how-to-decorate-a-room-for-a-foster-child/
Foster Bedroom Designs