While browsing recently at Lotus Bleu in Hayes Valley (a *fantastic* resource for chic, colorful home decor), we stumbled upon this impossibly adorable line of Tini Tables from oomph. While we’re a little late to the party (oomph debuted the line last year), it doesn’t make us adore these cheerful occasional tables one iota less. “Tini” is shorthand for “martini”, as in “perfect for a…”, a sentiment we completely adore except that we *kind of* think the Tini Table IV would be perfect beside our Little Castle “Buckingham” glider in the little lady’s nursery. We’re smarting a bit from narrowly missing a “Flamingo Pink” quatrefoil Tini Table IV this morning on One Kings Lane, but perhaps it simply wasn’t meant to be. A leaf green or sunny yellow Tini would be such a lovely way to break up all of the pink in the room (or at least that is our party line until we get over the loss!).
Another recent discovery (and part of me can’t believe I’m admitting this), is prenatal water aerobics, or as my gym likes to call it, “Prenatal AquaFit” (which does not, as they perhaps hoped, make it sound any less dorky). It basically involves a flotation belt, buoyant foam weights and a willingness to abandon some self-respect in the name of comfort. The instructor leads you through a series of underwater movements designed to enhance strength and flexibility. Getting in *any* exercise at 8 1/2 months pregnant is fantastic (and apparently increases one’s chances of having an unmedicated birth), but mostly, I’m in it for the floating. Feeling weightless for an hour was *heavenly*, so much so that I was uncomfortable the rest of the day because I everything felt so heavy by comparison. I am now fairly convinced that humans should be amphibious for the third trimester of pregnancy. Think about it.
The hus-b’s über gadget-savvy father has been trying to get him into Sonos for ages, and while a bit of a gadget geek himself, the hus-b wasn’t convinced until Sonos came out with apps enabling any iPhone or iPad to function as a Sonos remote. I still don’t fully understand how the heck it works, but being able to change up playlists and adjust volume from literally anywhere in the house? Flipping cool.
Starting from scratch on home decor means the obvious — new rugs, window treatments, a tchotchke here and there — but the practical realities of life also demand some less glamorous accessories, like the indispensable wastebasket (fancy speak for “trashcan”). Sure, you could mail it in and snag something utilitarian at The Container Store or Target, but just like your most treasured objet d’art, a wastebasket is going to sit in its given room and place ALL of the time. P&V figures that if something is going to be a permanent object in your home, it might as well be pretty, darn it. The Well Appointed House and Marye Kelley have some lovely traditional examples (including the blue scroll wastebasket pictured above), whereas Jonathan Adler’s laquered wastebaskets and some of the retro, Palm Beach-inspired pieces on Layla Grace would suit more modern sensibilities.
Hospital gowns are gross. What happens in them? Even grosser. And while I know that I’ll probably suck it up and wear a hospital gown for the main event, sitting around in the hospital and receiving visitors in one. Just. Isn’t. Happening. Enter our perpetual savior, J. Crew, and their Sleep Shirtdress. I love the button down front (easy access for nursing), old-timey styling and optional (please) monogramming. The length also seems kind of genius for medical care during the postpartum hospital stay, which I’ve heard is, ahem, decidedly *not* pants-friendly.
The brand spanking new Whole Foods in the Upper Haight (aka “Hippie Whole Foods”) is crazy gorgeous. It was also designed by an evil marketing genius well-schooled in the art of locating retail products for optimal unit sales. Exhibit A: the Chocolove Almonds & Sea Salt Dark Chocolate bars located smack dab in the middle of the register queue. I literally cannot wait in that grocery line without snagging a Chocolove bar and then promptly devouring the entire bar like a sugar-crazed five year-old. (Did I mention that I don’t even *like* chocolate?) This whole thing reeks of a conspiracy between Whole Foods and the little lady, I’m certain of it.