Some parents-to-be start with tiny clothes, others with more practical purchases. My shopping spree began with a whirligig.
My husband and I were on our belated honeymoon, road-tripping through the United States. Already we were three, as my jumping 28-week-old bump confirmed. Who was in there? we wondered, driving from New York to New Orleans down the never-ending crests of the Appalachian Mountains. We stopped to swim in ancient rivers and picnic beside trees with curving trunks, which were shaped by Native Americans to mark out the path ahead.
Along the way we had been asking strangers for their favorite baby names: Scarlett, Renée, Jeseequa, Dave junior. Nothing stuck, and I still couldn’t picture who was inside. We were in New Orleans by the time I spotted the whirligig in a vast antiques emporium on Magazine Street; it was a Native American in a green canoe with paddling oars.
Suddenly I could imagine the baby; I was talking to it and playing with it: I could almost hear it laughing as it sent those oars spinning.
And then we were off. Next came hand-knitted baby bonnets and the major excitement at finding an OshKosh boutique, where we bought a pair of bright-red corduroy dungarees. Returning to the U.K. with a bulging suitcase, I wished I could carry on swooping around the world like the imaginary stork, picking out things that might welcome a new person and make them happy.
France would be the next stop. I’d dodge the dirge of uninspiring diaper bags and channel the Parisian mothers with a bandanna tote from Call It By Your Name, or a patchwork-quilted sack from Maison M. Instead of plastic toys, I’d deck out the nursery with beautiful things from Si Tu Veux, the most charming toy store, in an arcade just north of the Jardin du Palais Royal, that I’d chanced upon with a friend, when its wooden teddy bears beckoned us inside.
Incidentally, it was five Frenchmen who came up with the idea for the Babyzen stroller, the first to fit in an airplane cabin. As a Londoner, I’d have to say the YoYo is the best option for anyone hoping to continue swishing through Tube barriers or onto buses, and I’d add a Binibamba sheepskin liner to stay cozy. Traveling on, we found that the Nordic nations really nail the practical-meets-stylish ethos. Top of the wish list is a Stokke Tripp Trapp high chair that lets the baby sit at the table (these can also be personalized by Artel Design) and a Flensted mobile, the closest thing to an Alexander Calder you’ll find for the nursery, at just $40.
Projektityyny’s baby quilts and cushions are irresistible. I’d love a circus-top canopy to hang over the cot or to use to create a reading nook filled with pillows and books waiting to be opened: Poppy Fraser’s Promise Me the Stars, The Velveteen Rabbit, and The Story of Babar.
On the walls, I’d try a Disney Home x Sanderson wallpaper. They feature newly-revived prints from Dumbo, Bambi, Alice in Wonderland, and 101 Dalmatians. Pongo and Perdita in Regent’s Park would do just fine, and after the stories I’d add a hot-air balloon rattan lampshade to help with lights-out. A set of Maude Smith’s stickers would be a fun addition to white bathroom tiles, or to a nursery fireplace.
Finally, I’ll set the whirligig on the mantelpiece, along with some postcards—the Appalachian Mountains, Babar and Celeste, and one of my favorite paintings, Piero della Francesca’s Madonna del Parto. I went to see her on a solo trip to Italy two years ago, a couple of months before I met my husband, the Madonna quietly gazing at me and parting her dress. Of course, I didn’t realize it at the time, but the Madonna quietly gazing at me and parting her dress was a talisman of what was to come.
Daisy Dawnay is a London-based writer
