Look, I read those big city mommy blogs, and I feel all amazed by how cool their lives are, what with the popping in to nifty cafes every afternoon for lunch or maybe for a weekend brunch (you know what I’m really thinking is “where is all this money for eating out COMING FROM? Must get 10,000 new readers this afternoon so I can make some real money on this blog. . .”).
They look adorable, always, they have fantastic style, they go amazing places. Their lives look pretty great.
Except, then, sometimes, I see a picture of their baby’s crib next to their bed because they only have a single bedroom and, huh, I’m not that sad not to be living a glamorous New York City or DC or San Francisco life.
I feel absurd amounts of love for the second bedroom in our apartment. The apartment we pay $100 less per month than we did for our one-bedroom, old, no-dishwasher/washer/dryer/two-shower-curtain-to-cover-the-window-in-the-shower apartment in Boston.
If my baby wasn’t at this moment snoozing in that second bedroom, I would go kiss the carpet in that room.
I know, I know, you can make do with one bedroom. We completely planned on doing just that, since the idea of DOUBLING our rent in order to have a second bedroom did not actually appeal to me. We had a tiny bassinet pressed up against the wall in our bedroom and la, la, la, it was going to be fine.
I’m sure it would have been. But I’m not sad to not know.
Take your afternoon at the art museum. I’ll be reveling in my second bedroom.