The first weeks have no fixed place. Sometimes your child sleeps on the sofa next to you, sometimes on the large bed while you fold laundry, sometimes on the floor in the sunbeam by the window. The nest simply goes with you. Its soft rim is like an arm that stays, even when yours is needed elsewhere. Your child feels the boundary and knows: Here I am safe. The flowers on the cotton originate from a tradition that began in Regent Street in 1875 and has since been passed down from generation to generation. Perhaps this nest, too, will one day be passed on, to a sibling or a grandchild. Until then, it is simply the place where everything begins.