Space is at a premium in the barn, and yet this new human must go somewhere. On Sunday afternoon, we decided it was time to set up some sort of nursery. We looked all around for the perfect spot. By process of elimination, we decided on this cabinet.

The tricky part was remembering how to assemble the co-sleeper. It was designed to humble men, to break them so that, when the baby comes, their spirits are already so shattered that they are willing to change diapers and etc.

I figured it out eventually. I’ll spare you the five-minute video Robbi took (mostly because it contains so much cursing). A few relocated boxes later, and we were all set.

Really, what else does a baby need but a bed and a place to lie while its diaper gets changed? The problem with this nursery is revealed only when the lens is pulled back. It’s not exactly cozy, situated as it is at the edge of the studio.

It’s not exactly safe, perched as it is at the top of the spiral staircase.

The steep and treacherous spiral staircase.

Veronica, we promise to move the baby’s bed by the time it learns how to sit up. (Veronica is a pediatric social worker and so fussy about things like the safety of infants.)

But when the overhead lights are off and the small lamp from Spain is on, this makeshift nursery has a warmth, a glow that seems to perfectly match the way I feel about this pending arrival, a thing I love as much as any other thing in the world, even though we haven’t yet been introduced.

We have this baby’s first outfit waiting, the Winnie-the-Pooh PJs and matching hat we had waiting when Alden arrived, and again when Kato made his appearance on the scene.

Which is to say, we’re ready when you are, Billie Jean. Stop kicking your mother and join us, already.