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.

Two days ago Joshua started posting something he calls #goaladay, and each day he tweets a goal he invites people to try to do.  Yesterdays was taste something you’ve never tasted.  I videoed it.  Basically if it’s ice cream, and doesn’t have oreo’s in it, I don’t like it.. or I have never tasted it.  Here is my #goaladay challenge to taste something I’ve never tasted before.  Enjoy.

Don’t forget to thank my beautiful wife for this picture.