Week 16: Dumb Stuff I Never Used to Care About

There’s a long list of topics I can honestly say never crossed my mind for a good 90% of my life. Yet many of these things have suddenly become massively important to me as an adult. For instance, I never thought I’d ever give a hoot about escrow or equity, nor did I ever imagine I’d concern myself with crown molding, fiber, gas mileage, or furniture shopping. However, I currently expend all sorts of mental energy on these issues, especially the last.

I’ve become preoccupied – no, obsessed – with finding the perfect upholstered rocking chair for the baby’s room. This room, mind you, is at the moment a rather cluttered home office. We’re leaving the light green wall color intact because we can’t be bothered to repaint. I may get some new curtains or I may not. I haven’t done a lick of research on cribs or changing tables. For whatever reason, I’m focused solely on this particular item, which in many people’s opinions (and they’re probably right) is an entirely optional addition to a nursery.

In a dream (or perhaps a Pottery Barn Kids catalog) I saw my ideal rocker – it was big but not bulky, cushy, comfortable, and best of all, covered in the cutest oversize green-and-white gingham fabric you’ve ever seen. I envisioned myself nestled in the cozy confines of the chair, nursing my newborn babe, rocking him/her to sleep, perhaps even humming a soothing lullaby. I pinned my maternal hopes and dreams to that checked chair. Now, if only I could find it.

I scoured the Internet for hours on end and came up blank. I drove miles out of my way to visit baby furnishings superstores. I asked friends and colleagues if they’d seen my elusive chair anywhere. Then, while visiting friends out of state, I saw it. Right there in their pastel-decorated nursery was a green-and-white checked rocker – with a matching ottoman! And matching valances on the windows! I sank into the chair and it glided back and forth as if floating on a cloud. Heaven.

But here’s the thing: these friends of ours are loaded. We’re Target, they’re Neiman Marcus. We’re pizza, they’re bruschetta. We’re 3 bedrooms, 2 ½ baths, they’re 7 (!) bedrooms and 7 (!) baths. Turns out, the rocking chair came from an exclusive, local custom furnishings shop. I wasn’t rude enough to ask the price (I wish I had been), but it’s probably a safe bet that it was out of our price range.

A few days later, a sheer stroke of luck landed me on a web site that offered a nearly identical chair. And to my surprise, it wouldn’t even require taking out a second mortgage. In fact, the only problem was that I couldn’t test out the chair before I bought it since the seller was an Internet-only retailer. I mean, what kind of idiot buys a several-hundred-dollar chair without sitting in it first? Well, um, actually … But I didn’t buy it just yet.

First, I stalked their customer service people. I felt like I was calling a phone-sex hotline as I asked them to describe, in intimate detail, what it felt like to sit in this chair. “It’s very comfortable. And roomy. I can tuck my legs up under me and still have room on each side,” they’d purr. “I fall asleep almost every time I sit in it.” “Uh, huh, go on,” I’d say, salivating. They sent me swatches. I caressed my cheek with the perfect pale green and white cotton, visions of nursery rhymes dancing in my head.

So did I go ahead and order the chair and get on with my life? No. Why? Because at heart, I’m a practical person. You might even say frugal. The extra shipping and handling fees irked me, but mostly it was the no-return policy that made me uneasy. What if I ordered the thing and it was as comfortable as sitting on a bag of wet sand? What if the customer service ladies had tricked me with their dulcet descriptions? My life ground to a halt for several days while I debated what to do.

It occurred to me that two years before, I’d been gripped by the same dementia over which wedding cake to get. The $600 vision of loveliness with the satiny, two-inch-thick buttercream icing and three different-flavored tiers? Or the $300 homemade vanilla one iced with a half-inch of sugar and shortening? I ended up choosing the latter, and I’m guessing no one but me noticed or cared. The thing about the chair is, instead of being devoured and forgotten in 20 minutes, it will be a fixture in our house for probably the next 20 years. We will sit in it, sleep or not sleep in it, every day for the next several years.

In the end, I just couldn’t take the chance. I settled on a homely, albeit comfortable, glider/recliner from JC Penney that was 30% off. Sure, I sprung for a nice sage green fabric for an extra $50, but it’s no green-and-white gingham. Sure, it swivels and reclines, unlike the chair on the web site, but there’s no cute matching ottoman. Sure, I can sit in it and sing lullabies to my baby, but it’s more like the type of chair a guy named Norm would sit in to drink beer and watch the playoffs.

But, like the wedding cake, I realize a chair is not the most important thing in the world. I’m going to be a parent soon. And parents are practical, right? I just hope our child never comes across a Pottery Barn Kids catalog. All that pastel and gingham would just break her heart.