There’s one piece of furniture I always wanted but never had as a new mum last time around: a nursing chair. Telling myself it was a waste of money as it wouldn’t be used long enough to warrant the expense, I never splashed out on one. Instead, I’d sit perched on the edge of the bed, or on the futon in Frog’s bedroom, feeding her in the middle of the night, trying not to get back ache.
This time around I was determined to have a chair in our new baby’s nursery. Even though the baby won’t be sleeping in there at first, I wanted a quiet place where I could do feeds without having to find a corner of a bed to perch on.
The thing is, I’m not a huge fan of new furniture. I like pieces that tell a story and, if it’s personal, then all the better. All of the nursing chairs I’d looked at online seemed ludicrously expensive or just not to my taste – too bulky, too mumsy, too ugly, or just not quite right. I know, I’m possibly a little too fussy.
And then I remembered my grandmother’s chair. My beautiful Nana died earlier this year. She was funny, kind and the best baker I’ve ever known. Time spent at Nana’s house in Derby was always fun. When my Dada was alive they would bicker with each other and he would make us all laugh. He’d tell Nana off for the occasional swear (“Ooh you naughty bugger!”) and she’d scold him back for having the telly on too loud. Continue reading »