“Finally!” I shouted with glee.
Brinton dragged the giant, heavy box out of a dark hallway corner, where it had been stowed for the last month or so.
We ripped the tape off and pulled out all the cherry-colored wooden pieces. Seeing the actual pieces of a real baby’s crib in our apartment, all of a sudden things got REAL. I imagined a little baby girl sleeping peacefully in the room we were setting up for her. I felt equal parts excitement and oh-my-god-what-have-I-done.
We laid out all of the pieces in the hallway: hardware and railings and bedsprings and a mattress.
After thirty minutes we only had one side of the crib put together–sort of.
“It’s getting pretty late. Let’s do the rest tomorrow,” Brinton suggested.
I persisted. “I can keep working on it, if you want to go to bed.”
An hour or so later we were putting the last few pieces on. Brinton tightened all the bolts one last time. I slid the mattress into place. I couldn’t wait to see what it looked like with all the cute sheets and blankets I had just opened at my baby shower.
“Let’s put it in her room!” I said.
“Can’t we just do that in the morning? I’m so tired!” Brinton yawned.
Nevertheless, he slid the finished crib down the hall to the bedroom door. I stood by watching. As the crib got nearer to the door it became clear that there was no way it was going to fit through the doorway.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Brinton cried, half laughing.
I didn’t know what to do. I stood silently, thinking. A crazy, hormonal, nesting impulse had taken over. An inexplicable rage washed over me. This damn crib HAD to be done TONIGHT.
“Well,” I said calmly. “You can go to bed, but I’m going to finish this.”
Brinton looked at me like I was nuts–and I was–but he understood. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s do this.”