Does Pottery Barn have a DME department?
As a millennial mom, hours have been spent curating a nursery on Pinterest, selecting paint colors, and finding the perfect changing table baskets (the verdict is still left open on practicality). Whether it’s your first or second child, you have a vision of bringing them home to their safe, warm bed (praying for maximum sleep) and dreaming of who they will become. Maybe in that room, Archie will take his first steps, maybe his first trophy will be displayed, or maybe he will simply play (or fight) with his brother. Whatever the aspirations we have for that room, each and every detail was picked out intentionally. I always knew it would be a safe place filled with extreme love, but never once prepared for that same room to endure so much fear, anxiety, and honestly, anger.
A blue striped room I hoped would be a sanctuary for quiet moments and the boys laughter, quickly became a space of constant advocacy. A room that’s seen EMTs, DME delivery drivers, and a lot of late night debating on do we reach out to the on call neuro team. No one could anticipate being thrown into the world of pediatric specialists, therapy appointments, and endless medical equipment.
The crib, once a symbol of excitement and hope (and something I spent hours analyzing which finish matches my aesthetic), became a place of anxious glances, checking for breathing, or worrying about every little twitch. It’s a room that holds both our hopes for Archie’s future and the fear of the unknown.
The quiet moments in his nursery are often filled with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. The once-carefully chosen mallard duck décor becomes a background to endless questions and unspoken fear . When will the next episode happen? How can I make sure he is safe when I’m not there? Every time I rock Archie in the glider or lay him down in his crib, I’m reminded that this is more than just a nursery. It’s a place of resilience, of pushing through difficult moments, and finding strength in the chaos.
But, as with all challenges, there are bright spots. The same room that filled me with anxiety also became a space for connection. It’s where Corey and I found moments to lean on each other when everything felt overwhelming. It’s where Archie and Hudson’s silliness keeps us smiling, reminding us that even in the toughest of times, there are milestones to be celebrated.
This room may not be the perfectly curated Pinterest nursery, but it’s become something even more meaningful. It’s a space of growth, adaptation, and ultimately, love. A room that is now filled with a lot of medical equipment and hope for a cure- It has me wondering does Pottery Barn have a DME department?