Crib Stains and Tear Stains

This post was written the evening of June 24 and scheduled to be posted June 25, but, well, this happened instead.


Little A is less than two weeks away and our nursery is just starting to take shape. Why, yes, we ARE a family of procrastinators! But it was a process to even get to this point. We are utilizing our old (ancient) bedroom dressers for the kid’s dressers, meaning we couldn’t move them into the kid’s room until we picked out our new furniture and had said furniture delivered.

In the meantime, I found a crib online that appeared to match the color of the now nursery furniture, ordered that shit up and we were on our way. I knew the crib color wouldn’t match exact with the dresser, bench and bookshelf in the room – since none of those matched each other anyway – but it looked to be in the same color family so it would suffice.

Old furniture was moved on Thursday. Crib came Friday. Our new furniture came Saturday. Big A cleaned out the nursery on Sunday. Me, being all antsy in the pantsy, was dying to get the crib out of the garage (and away from the keg of Yuengling from the weekend full of shenanigans, but that’s another story) and unpacked so I could verify the color selection.

The crib made the journey. I held my breath as the tape was cut and the ties released. Big A flipped it open. I frowned. It was less “light 1980’s Oak” and more “rich 2000’s Cherry”. Not. The. Same. Not even close. I mentioned, several times, that it was Amazon and free return shipping was available.


Big A stood firm. He tried to tell me that it was fine. BUT IT WASN’T. Besides, he is color and design impaired. I didn’t like the fabric with it, it did not look at all like the color online, I was frustrated, I wanted the room done, I was so excited to have this KEY PIECE of the nursery and I was sitting there, on the floor, totally disappointed.

I tried to fight it. I did. I tried wicked hard. I closed my eyes and tried to find my happy place. I knew it was not the end of the world. I tried to be zen about it. But the lip quivered. And the breaths started to catch. Then the tears welled up.

And I cried. And laughed. And cried. And laughed.

I knew I was being ridiculous. But I couldn’t stop. Big A laughed at me. I laughed at me. My mascara ran. I told Big A to shut up. I couldn’t help it. I was crying over a crib.

He left the room. Probably to roll his eyes and find something to shut me up. He returned with sandpaper. He RUBBED IT ON THE CRIB.

I accused him of doing that so he wouldn’t have to send it back. Which was probably true, to a point.

But when he sanded it…it looked closer to the 1980’s Oak I desired. Somehow, it removed the red tone, distressed it enough and looked better. Not perfect, but better.

And he asked if I liked it. I said that I did, but it wasn’t enough to warrant the time that it would take. I mean, cribs have a lot of slats and pieces and whatevers. It would take a fair amount of sanding.

He said he would do it for me.


I didn’t care if it was only because then he wouldn’t have to repack it all and send it back or if it was just to shut me up, but he was going to take the time to sand the shit out of that crib.

So, of course, I started crying all over again. Harder. Still laughing. But crying harder. Fat, happy crocodile tears.

And then about an hour later I went to hug him and thank him and I started crying again. I CAN’T HELP IT.

Oh, hormones.



Big A spent several hours away from the hospital in order to actually PUT the crib together so @#%$! baby would have a place to sleep upon discharge. He sanded the crap out of a hidden piece of it, only to discover it actually wasn’t going to work. But I am so over it now. More important things to worry about and all.


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