“I hope you and JJ didn’t drink too much last night. We’re going shopping.”
“Wow, has it been two months already?”
“Yes, and I called to confirm they will actually let you into Babies R Us again.”
Meg wasn’t very clear with our agenda. We were there to order “baby furniture”, whatever that may entail. In my head, that meant a crib. We have plenty of extra dressers now that Meg donated the better portion of my wardrobe to good will, and even then you can fit about a hundred onesies in a one foot square space. That should at least cover what my mom’s already bought for the baby.
I soon learned that “baby furniture” included a crib, dresser, changing table, and glider. I grab a snack and coffee, and resolve myself to the fact that I won’t be spending the day recovering on my couch.
Armed with a guide on buying baby items, we arrive at Babies R Us. I’m not kidding about the guide. I forget the actual name, but she had done her homework.
“Ok, this brand got an A- for cribs, but for dressers they were given an F. It says we need to check to make sure the mattress is loaded on springs, that the side can slide down, and–”
Meg stops reading. She looks down to find me squatting down in front of her. I’m playing with a blue plush dinosaur and Meg’s stomach, trying to coax the baby into kicking Meg if it’s a boy and he wants dinosaurs in his room.
We had decided on gender-neutral bedding and a theme for the room (frogs) before we got there. However, we ventured too close to the bedding section while looking at cribs and I saw the dinosaur theme. It freaking rocks. It was the first time I wish we had found out if the monkey was a boy or girl, since I would totally buy just about every piece of the dinosaur theme if there’s a boy behind her disgustingly protruding bellybutton.
Now dinosaur-less, I’m forced to turn my attention to the cribs. Meg walks around one of them, kicking the legs as if it were tires on a car. She starts to say something about wondering if it’s stable and well put together. That was my cue.
I suppose it’s an unrealistic durability test to lift the crib a foot off the ground and drop it. If the kid can manage that, we have bigger issues than simply the crib breaking. Of course, I realized this after the sound of a falling crib reverberated against the walls of Babies R Us, but in my defense, hindsight is 20/20.
“Actually Jay, they say to be more concerned with the sliding side of the crib.”
“Did you see that the dinosaur theme has a matching wall border?”
I walk over to the side of the crib. I see the word “PUSH” on the bottom of the side. I’m a smart guy, so I assume that’s the release mechanism to slide down the side of the crib so I can reach the baby.
I lean my knee into the PUSH sign and the crib slides four feet across the floor, scratching its wheel-less legs the whole time. Apparently, the manufacturer and I have different definitions of the word “push”. I prop the crib against a wall and try again.
Like I said, I’m a smart guy, but I’m not very coordinated. For a solid 30 seconds, I can’t get it to work. Meg tries with an equal lack of success. I imagine attempting this with a squirming child in one hand and pray this is covered in our Baby Basics class in two weeks. And if you read “Baby Basics class” and thought to yourself that I’ll no doubt make an ass out of myself, you’re dead right.
“Is that how it’s supposed to work?”
I give it another shot. I hear a snap, and the side comes down. The problem was, it came off. Completely. The little plastic rails that hold the side on aren’t exactly the finest quality. We quickly move to another crib. This time we find much more success, getting the side to slide down, still on the rails, in just under 3 minutes. I notice that the side is now a mere three inches lower than it was and wonder just why the hell I bothered to do all that work; I’ll just lean over and put the kid down.
“What is that?”
“It’s the mobile from the dinosaur set. Look, it has four different dinosaurs and a palm tree in the center.”
“Put that back, we have to look at gliders now.”
Forget the baby, I want one of these in my family room. It’s actually more comfortable than most recliners. It allegedly helps with nursing. I’m no doctor, but I fail to see the correlation. Still, the chair put me to sleep in a matter of seconds, so if it works on the baby with even reasonably close results, it was worth the money. And I do mean money, those things are expensive. There was a whole line of cheaper ones, but Meg’s book said they were all crap, and the last thing I want is to sit down on the glider and take a tumble out the third floor window of our house.
“How about if we buy the dinosaur set and the frog set. Then, when we find out if it’s a boy, I can race home before you leave the hospital and decorate accordingly?”
Even buying a mattress was hard. There were tons of options that probably don’t mean anything. Yet Meg and I stood there, worried we were going to choose the wrong one.
Oh, and why the hell are they six feet long? I could sleep comfortably on the thing, much less a damn infant.
So, a lot more money than I expected to spend later, we had bought a crib, dresser/changing table combo, glider, gliding ottoman (yes, it actually moves too, at least when you don’t have the “nursing footrest” out that admittedly, we don’t know how to use), a mattress, and no dinosaurs.