On behalf of the three other people in the office with me today, I want to thank all of our guest bloggers who have been with us for the past couple weeks. Your stories about children and design have made me almost want to have kids of my own.

Almost.

We already have some great ideas in the works for ‘Baby Blogapalooza ’06′, and until then you can always read through the archives in our Baby Blogapalooza category.

So next week we are going to shift gears a little bit here at Design Public. OK, a lot. Actually, a massive gear shift, say from reverse to fifth. . .

Next week, all week, is “Pledge Week” at Design Public!

That’s right, we’re going back to college, my friends. Keg stands, food fights, rush, football, the whole nine yards. As ‘Baby’ winds down, we’ve been gearing up around the office by giving each other wedgies and smashing beer cans into our foreheads. Get ready for fab dorm room decor, easy first apartment decorating tips and tricks, and a great new category devoted to a class we’ve all signed up for, Design 101.

So if you or anyone you know is college-bound this fall, check back Monday — class is in session!

One of the more fascinating developments in human behavior that has resulted since Al Gore invented the internet is the vast spread of websites allowing people to anonymously confess their deepest and darkest secrets. Maybe you’ve seen some of these. Two of the more popular sites where you can witness this interesting phenomenon are Post Secret and Group Hug.

Me? I’ve never been one to confess anything anonymously. I’ve always felt that, aside from opposable thumbs and the ability to masturbate, the one thing that truly separates people from animals is our ability to take great pride in our mistakes, indiscretions or failings. That’s why, on my site, I’ve confessed to doing everything from drinking my wife’s breast milk to getting high with the dog.

But there is one thing about me that I’ve never confessed on my site before. Here it is, Internet…I am a design whore. Yep, it’s true. I’m a whore. Huge whore. Big time, baby. Every night (except Sundays), you’ll find me near the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel, prostituting my body so I can afford the latest creations by Karim Rashid, Marc Newson, and Phillipe Starck.

OK, I’m kidding. But you get the idea. The point is that modern design has always been one of my many life passions. When it’s time for a dump, I like to settle onto the toilet with a copy of Metropolitan Home or Dwell Magazine. When my wife falls asleep at night and I’m all alone? I don’t surf porn. I surf E-Bay and trawl for mid-century furniture. And on the eve of ICFF, I’m like a nervous schoolgirl the night before the prom. Yeah, I’m a little nuts. It’s probably got something to do with my collection of Eames, Wright and Koolhaas trading cards.

Anyway, when it turned out that my wife was pregnant last year, I was extremely excited to start purchasing some well-designed and cool baby paraphernalia. I’d always hated those Shaker cribs built by the Amish. I abhorred the mass-produced synthetic rugs decorated with Looney Tunes characters. And don’t even get me started on those fugly nursing rockers swathed in naugahyde!

Dammit, it was 2004! Where was all the futuristic modern baby gear of the new millennium? Maybe Yogi Berra was right when he said, “the future ain’t what it used to be.” Because as my wife and I started looking around, we saw that there really wasn’t the prevalence of well-designed baby gear that we’d thought there would be. Sure, we got the Eames rocker, the Dwell bedding, the Bugaboo stroller and the Netto changing table. We even decorated the nursery with Wall Candy’s Blik-inspired surface designs.

But you know what? If there’s one solitary thing that I’ve learned in my brief time as a parent it’s that the great American architect Louis Sullivan was right; form must always follow function. In our apartment, we ended up getting rid of both the Eames rocker and the Netto table. Neither one really suited our needs. The form was there but the function was severely lacking.

So in the great tradition of the epochal battles between the formalists and modernists of the mid-century, I’m throwing down the gauntlet to today’s contemporary designers. You want to impress me? You want my hard-earned dollars? Then, listen up. Here’s where you can start…

Car Seats: I’m not sure whether you designers have noticed this but America’s car seats are uglier than sin. I’m actually embarrassed how ugly they are. Why are they all colored puke brown and made of cheap velour. Is it to hide a baby’s vomit? The European ones are a million times cooler. We can do better, people!

High Chairs: The coolest one available in the U.S. is the Nest. But it costs over $200 and is one of the lowest rated chairs in terms of safety. The highest rated one costs around $70. Unfortunately, it’s decorated with pictures of Cinderella! It’s completely functional but when I look at it, even I lose my appetite!

Baby Gates: Can’t we do better than creating safety devices seemingly inspired by preventive pet measures, county lock-ups and Gitmo? I don’t want my daughter to grow up with a prison complex. If she ends up in Cell Block H, I’m blaming it on the baby gate.

Diaper Bags for Men: One day, I’d love to have a diaper bag that doesn’t scream, “I am Woman. Hear me roar!” Unfortunately, today’s designers have come to the conclusion that they can take a pink diaper bag, spray paint it in camouflage, and then market it for men. I’m not looking for a Budweiser diaper bag or one that’s covered with Nascar photos. But how about something designed by men for men? That would be nice.

Don’t even get me started about the inability to find a changing table that can keep a baby restrained long enough for me to wipe the poop off my fingers. Or the mass-produced, petroleum-based plastic toys that wreak havoc on the environment. Nope, let’s start with the simpler things. I know you designers are busy reinventing the wheel. And things are a lot better now than they were a year ago. Back in my time, we only had a few guys like David Netto to take our dollars. Now, there’s duc duc, Miguel Rodriguez and many other fine designers emerging daily. But remember one thing. Subscribing to the modern aesthetic shouldn’t be so hard or so expensive! A crib shouldn’t cost more than MY bed. And no baby furniture should ever be more expensive than your first car. Keep those things in mind and let’s see what you come up with. Good luck!

Read more MetroDad.

There are two facts that, when you are preparing for a new baby, become painfully apparent. The most obvious is that this is something brand new. Not just new as in “Um, why did I trade my life that I’m perfectly happy with for a new one that I know absolutely nothing about?”, but also new as in a fresh start. It’s like you’re given this project completely from the beginning, and it’s up to you to make it as cool as possible.

The other fact is that all of a sudden you’ve got a reason to buy loads of new stuff. And sure, ostensibly it’s stuff for the baby, but really it’s stuff for you. And stuff for you should look like stuff you would want to have. Long after the baby shower it’s you that’s going to have to push that stroller around with the ugly plaid fabric, or carry that diaper bag covered in bunnies.

Before our daughter arrived we tried to take advantage of our fresh start and get things that were functional, appropriate for a child, and didn’t look ugly. But even as little as a year and a half ago we didn’t have many options. We had to get the crib in one place, the Blik wall decals another, the arm shell rocker in another – but eventually it all came together. Now the one room in my house that was most likely to look like it came from some country kitchen nightmare is my favorite.

So if ducks and bunnies and stenciled furniture is your thing, then you’ve already got lots of options. But if your tastes are a little different, then it might take a little more work, but fortunately there are a lot of options these days. Because as far as I can tell, babies don’t care either way what their furniture or the fabric in their car seat looks like. And hopefully if you surround them with good design, when they’re old enough to make their own choices they’ll make the right ones.

Read more Modern Day Dad.

I may or may not have a talent for home design and decorating, I’m really not sure. When faced with a room that needs that special something like oh, say, paint, I tend to freeze up and not know what I want and, therefore, don’t end up doing anything. I think it stems from growing up in a home with all white walls and linens; my father wouldn’t tolerate anything else. Fortunately, I live in an old house that is detailed enough to be interesting on its own and I don’t have to do a lot to it downstairs. Upstairs? Not quite as interesting. It needs a little more effort.

The bedrooms are upstairs and I feel like I can take a little more risk there, especially with the kids’ rooms. My daughter’s room has been the testing ground for my newfound “daring” decor moves. It’s been through a lot, but we have finally settled on bright, bright green walls with coordinating blue and purple accents (Hey, she’s 10, I would have killed for something like that when I was her age). This was no easy task to make it look right, since all the house trim is dark wood and you have to consider that with every color and furnishing you choose.

I was excited to do my son’s room, he’s my first boy and there was so much I wanted to do. I planned carefully, knowing that “boy” colors would be easier to incorporate when you consider the details of our old house. I used colors from a cowboy poster print in his room. It has denim blue, dark greens, khaki and dark reds, all great boy colors. I took my time choosing furnishings and accessories that looked great with the color scheme. We painted the walls a dark khaki and when we finally finished, we realized the one detail we didn’t consider: he’s colorblind. We had decorated primarily in the colors that give him trouble. But, he was thrilled. He exuberantly thanked us, saying, “I’ve always wanted an all-green room!”

Read more Busy Mom.

My baby sleeps in the crib that I slept in when I was a baby. “It’s not safe,” a friend said. “It’s so old. It can’t possibly be safe. I wouldn’t risk it,” said another. But I do. I have. Twice, even. This is the second of my babies to sleep in the crib of my infanthood.

I have never doubted for one minute the integrity of the crib. My grandfather, a landscape architect and hobbyist furniture designer, envisioned that crib especially for me. How could a piece of furniture, lovingly designed by a grandfather for his granddaughter be anything but safe?

The crib is the same honey-brown hue of my older daughter’s Korean-Italian-Irish skin, and the exact color of my baby daughter’s eyes. (She has the Irish genes and will live in SPF 45.) It is smooth and cool and satiny to the touch. It’s made of rosewood, a tropical hardwood that smells faintly sweet and spicy at the same time. Like my girls, I used to teeth on it, so I distinctly remember its clove-y taste.

When I outgrew it, my crib was wrapped in a blanket and carted from house to house as I was growing up. I took comfort in knowing that it was always in the garage. “Someday, your babies will use it,” my mother said. And I always knew it to be true.

The crib currently resides in Portland, Oregon. It has traveled the world stopping in Honolulu, Hawaii and the cities of Menlo Park and San Francisco, California since it was created in Hong Kong, from my grandfather’s sketches, 36 years ago. It has traveled a long way to protect my babies, and it is still holding its own. But then, good furniture, thoughtfully designed, and built from solid materials is supposed to last.

When I was pregnant with my older daughter, my parents had my old crib delivered to our house. I hadn’t laid eyes on it in 15 years. It needed a little attention, but overall it was ready to do the job it was created to do. My husband wiped the entire crib down with a damp cloth, then carefully buffed it with wax. He considered sanding the tiny teeth marks on the edge of the crib and then thought better of it. We ordered a new mattress and covered it with soft cotton sheets and waited for our baby girl to be born.

Yes, the crib is safe. There are no slats to catch tiny calves or chunky elbows. There is no shiny, metal hardware to attract baby fingers. There is no paint, nothing to be ingested while teething. The crib itself is one solid piece. It doesn’t fold up or come apart. Of course not. It was made in a different time. The four sides are comprised of solid rosewood panels. One of the long panels can be removed completely to make a day-bed. There are long openings along the horizontal and vertical edges, and it is adorned with stylized, carved clouds and butterflies. My grandpa chose the butterfly motif especially for me, after a childhood nickname.

In 1969, my grandfather designed a crib for his granddaughter, sent his sketches off to a factory in Hong Kong, and then he died. Three months later, the finished crib arrived at my mother’s door. It pains me to imagine how bittersweet that moment must have been for her. My grandfather never got to see me sleep in his crib. He never got to see how tiny my older daughter looked in it when she was a baby, and how her arms and legs completely filled it up as she grew. He never got to see the way my 11-month-old pulls herself up and then plops herself back down, giggling the whole time. I don’t know if my grandfather ever imagined that his 35-year-old granddaughter would still be carting her crib around with her, but I think he would be pleased to know that it lasted that long.

Read more CityMama.