Anger, Cribs, Boas, and Cheetah Print
It’s no secret that sometimes, I let my temper get the best of me. My wife may argue, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.
When Andrea was about 7 months pregnant, I was tasked with putting together our daughter’s crib (every dad’s right of passage). Andrea was out, maybe at a baby shower, and I decided I’d put it together and surprise her. I unpacked the box in the living room, and started the search for my tools. I could not find any. When Andrea and I got married, she got a ‘tool kit’ that was wrapped in cheetah print paper, and had purple feathers glued to it. Enter bad mood.
So, here I am. Sitting on the floor of our living room, trying to make sense of this ridiculous instruction manual, with cheetah print, purple fluffy tools, pieces of the crib falling over as I tried to stand them up, getting so frustrated that I could feel the temperature in my face rising. Slowly but surely, I’m piecing this crib together, and I thinking about how happy Andrea is going to be. (truth is, she’d been asking me to do this for a minute now.) Still frustrated, I screw in the final screw, and sigh a sigh of relief. I stood up and took a step back to admire the masterpiece that meant I was officially a dad. I checked everything, and even slid the drop side up and down a few times to show off my incredible craftsmanship.
I went to the kitchen to get a drink. There truely isn’t a better feeling than taking that breath, letting it out, and not being frustrated anymore. I decided I was going to put the crib in Gemma’s room, and make it look nice for Andrea. I unlocked the wheels, and rolled it to the hallway.
As I approached, I got an uneasy feeling in my gut and felt the frustration growing again. Once I hit the hall, my fears were confirmed as I realized, there is absolutely no way this crib was going to fit through the hallway, let alone make the turn into Gemma’s room. I screamed. I wanted to punch something. I couldn’t hardly breathe. I was so mad, I thought my heart was going to explode.
I took the crib apart, piece by piece, to try to strategically leave as most of it together as I could. I ended up in the hallway, stuck between the door and the hall, with cheetah print, purple fluffy tools, sweating, with a half assembled crib, stuck. Absolutely stuck.
I eventually ended up taking the entire crib apart, and reassembling the crib. In the process, slamming my finger in part of it. Gemma’s crib was assembled in her room. *Sigh*. Success.
The thing is, looking back, that’s one of the coolest memories I have. It’s funny. It’s really really funny. It symbolizes, not only the moment I realized my life would never be the same, but also the moment I realized that I was, in no way, ready for a baby. It was the moment I realized that I had a lot to learn. It was the moment I realized I was scared. It was the moment I saw a room, for a baby that I would love and take care of for the (at least) next 18 years. That was the moment everything changed.
I don’t remember the frustrated feeling. I don’t remember the angry words that came out of my mouth. I only remember the feeling. And looking back, all I can think is, life is too short to be pissed off all of the time.
So, while I sit here, about a year and a half later, (having taken that crib apart and put it together again, and getting equally as mad) still with a short temper, still struggling to change, still struggling. Hearing my wife tell that story to soon to be moms and dads, laughing hilariously, I think of this moment, and it gives me a grain of clarity. Clarity that may change me. Clarity that I can hopefully embed into my life, my soul, my being, my memories.
Don’t be mad. It really isn’t worth it.
