It’s hard to believe we’re about to give our son’s nursery a big-boy makeover. He’s nearly five now, and as we prepare for this transition, I find myself reminiscing on all the tiny, sweet moments held in this space. It feels like only yesterday that we were so deeply immersed in planning the intricate details of this room with so much nervous excitement, love and intention. We were newlyweds so naively unaware that the transformation ahead would far exceed the four walls of this room. We were evolving… man and woman, husband and wife, now dad and mom. In the years ahead, we would be broken and rebuilt many times over by the demands of these new roles and the depth of love for our growing family. And the nursery bore witness to it all. It was more than just a place for sleep—it was our sanctuary where we built the foundation of our bond, one night feed, one bedtime story, and one sloppy baby kiss at a time.

A nursery isn’t just a room. It’s the beginning of a million little firsts. And for us, this one will always hold a piece of our hearts.

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A Tiny Room with Big Heart

In our first home, a humble 1,100-square-foot rancher without so much as a hall closet, space was a luxury we didn’t have. The nursery took shape in the smallest of three tiny bedrooms. It was barely big enough to hold the essentials, yet somehow, it felt limitless. Within those snug walls, we curated more than just a room; we created our cocoon.

We layered every inch with intention, weaving together textures, tones, and personal pieces that turned the room into something far greater than the sum of its square footage. This wasn’t just a nursery. It was the first space we built as parents—where we learned to soothe, to comfort, and to stand in awe of the tiny human we had brought into the world. The room grew with us, bearing witness to our quiet triumphs and tender, humbling lessons. It didn’t matter how small it was; within those walls, our universe expanded.

Setting the Tone

Of all the choices we made, none sparked more conversation than the matte black shiplap wall. To many, it seemed like an unconventional and risky move for a nursery. But to us, it was an anchor. A bold, unapologetic hint at the kind of parents we hoped to be: willing to trust our instincts, to provide grounding and seek beauty in the unexpected.

We used pre-made shiplap planks from the hardware store (a convenient alternative to DIYing from scratch) painted matte Sherwin Williams Tricorn Black, and the result was perfection. The wall became an instant grounding point, anchoring the room with quiet confidence.

Balanced by the crisp white of Benjamin Moore Chantilly Lace on the surrounding walls, the room became a visual representation of parenthood itself—the interplay of light and dark, tenderness and strength, confidence and uncertainty.

What seemed like a daring choice became the very thing that made the room feel like us. An act of trust in our own vision, much like the leaps of faith parenthood so often requires.

In the end, what seemed like a daring choice became the very thing that made the room feel like us. It was unexpected but intentional, bold yet comforting. An act of trust in our own vision, much like the leaps of faith parenthood so often requires.

Natural Textures and Gentle Whimsy

The nursery was layered with natural materials and details that felt as though they carried pieces of our story within them. Every item had a heartbeat, every corner layered with care.

Against the black shiplap, his Babyletto Lolly crib—with its soft white frame and natural wood spindles—stood as a gentle contrast, dressed in soft grays and simple monochrome printed sheets.

Above the crib, a print of a highland cow hung on magnetic wooden strips. The cow’s messy, golden mane always made me smile; it looked remarkably like our son’s own wild bedhead as he’d peer over the crib rails each morning, eyes bleary with sleep but shining with joy.

A woven hamper tucked neatly beside the crib to collect countless loads of impossibly tiny clothes, a soft white lambskin throw, an intricate white baby blanket lovingly crocheted by my grandmother, and blackout curtains in a warm, wood-toned weave that wrapped the room in calm. A subtle white chevron floor vase filled with dried bunny tails—fragile yet enduring stems that had once decorated our wedding day—now stood watch in the corner, quietly tying our two most monumental life moments together.

Staggered white shelves displayed small plants and wooden treasures including a carving from Thailand depicting a mother and baby elephant standing side by side. I remember spotting it in a small market, running my fingers over the delicate curves of the carving. At the time, I was unmarried, years away from motherhood, yet something about it spoke to me—a whisper of a future I didn’t yet know was coming. I was drawn to the quiet strength of the mother elephant, the way the baby nestled close, and I felt an inexplicable pull to bring it home. 

Subtle and soulful touches rounded out the space: black-painted doors to echo the shiplap’s boldness, a round mirror with a gold frame to reflect the soft morning light, and a bookcase brimming with sweet board books that became the staple of our nightly rituals.

The Nursery MVP

And then there was the oversized gray Pottery Barn Paxton Glider, nestled in the corner like an old friend. A bit of a splurge, but easily the most worthwhile purchase we made for the baby. That chair was the heartbeat of the nursery—the cradle of our quietest moments and the backdrop to so many of our firsts.

I spent countless hours and endless nights sunk into the soft cushions of this chair, listening to the rhythmic suck-suck-swallow of my nursing babe, marveling at him in the muted glow of the salt lamp. It was where I learned to hold him through fevered tears, where he babbled his first words, where he reached for my face and planted his first wet, earnest kisses. That chair caught it all—the milestones and the mundane. 

From Nursery to Next Chapter

We loved that nursery so much that when we moved a year later, we recreated it in our new home, keeping many of those initial elements that had made it special. And while the walls changed, the memories carried forward with us.

Now, as we prepare to transition his nursery into a big-boy room, I find myself holding onto these memories with a gentle ache. This wasn’t just a cute space—it was my favorite corner of our home, a place where I could sit and just be, soaking in the beauty of what we had created, not just in design but in love.

The crib is long gone, replaced by a toddler bed that will soon make way for something bigger. The board books are beginning to share space with more grown-up stories. But no matter how his space evolves, the essence of his nursery—the love, the warmth, the stories it holds—will always remain.

A nursery isn’t just a room. It’s the beginning of a million little firsts. And for us, this one will always hold a piece of our hearts.