The crib extravaganza
Hi, Little Miss, Your crib came in today. When I saw it sitting on the front porch of the house, I knew there was only one thing to do: ignore it and go back to sitting on the couch. (Kidding!) Your mom wasn’t home and was so excited for it to arrive I knew I could surprise her by setting it up before she got home. I grabbed the big, heavy box and dragged it into the dining room—hoping the neighbors couldn’t see my struggles to get the thing in the door.
I should have dragged it into your bedroom, but paint supplies still littered the floor after your mom and I painted the weekend before. (More on that later.) I figured it would be a simple setup. Open the box, piece together a couple of custom-cut sections, screw them tight and push it into your room. (+100 good husband and handy dad points!) Only it wasn’t so simple.
First off, the damn box was frustratingly hard to open. (+15 minutes trying to rip it to shreds/search for scissors/only to discover the scissors were dull.) Who glues and staples a box. I mean, seriously! After unloading the box (+10 minutes) and placing all the parts against the wall (+6 minutes), I realized there were no directions. But, let’s be honest, who needs directions (0 minutes searching for directions). Turns out, I did. As I stood there piecing how I was going to build the crib in my mind (+9 minutes), I made my move and attempted to put the damn thing together (+30 minutes). As the minutes passed and I grew increasingly frustrated I realized—and gave in—that I, in fact, needed directions. After a Google search (+15 minutes), I was slowly back on my way, well past my original deadline.
Finally, I caught a break. I spent the next hour (+60 minutes) trash-talking the crib as it began to take shape and resemble what it looked like on the box. Your mom walked in shortly after it was finished and I showed off my handy dad skills. Once she approved, I pushed your crib the 20 feet from the dining room into your room and came to a horrifying realization: the crib’s terror wasn’t over. As I tried to push it into the walkway that leads into the hallway to your bedroom, the crib’s legs kept hitting the walls. So I turned it to a different side. No luck. Turned it on its top. Nothing but walls. (-100 good husband and handy dad points.) I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I’d spent nearly two-and-a-half hours assembling the damn thing for it not to fit into a walkway so close to your bedroom. Turns out whoever built the house built that walkway three inches smaller than a normal door-sized frame. WHAT THE HELL?! I spent the next half hour (+30 minutes) deciding whether I should take a saw to the walkway or disassemble the crib and move the parts into your bedroom, during which time your mom had cleaned out the painting supplies from the bedroom. I decided Home Depot was too far away to buy the saw I needed to widen the walkway. So I begrudgingly grabbed the screwdriver and began the disassembly process (+15 minutes) and move the parts into your bedroom. It took another half hour (+30 minutes) to put it back together. Alas, it was finished.
Total time to complete: 3 hours, 40 minutes. Total good husband and handy dad points: 0. Parenting is hard.