[No image to share. Imagine, if you will, a bloated sea mammal.]
We’ve got the crib.
Yup, that's my storyboard tucked inside. I promise to move it before the baby comes.
Now it just needs a room.
What? The view from here is great! Kitchen in one direction, living room in the other, and BOOM. Books.
Perfect view for a budding bibliophile.
It’s a longer story than that, but I’ll try to make it short because honestly, I need a donut. Homes put the crib together in the living room because our teeny bedroom doesn’t have enough space for putting furniture together. And now the crib won’t fit through the doorway. Even with the door taken off. So here it rests, in the middle of this room-without-a-name (I call it the Third Room, but it is essentially a very wide hallway with books), until we rearrange the bedroom to make space for (re)assembling the crib.
Oh yeah, and the place where we were going to put it in our bedroom? It would give us approximately eleven inches to squeeze between it and our bed in order to reach the bathroom.
I purposefully bought a cheapie small IKEA crib because I didn’t want a freaking monstrosity taking up the nonexistent space in my house! (!!!!!!!!!!) (Yes, those are optional exclamation points. This way you can hear me shouting that sentence, or, if your ears are feeling strong, shrieking it while I grip the lapels of someone responsible and shake them until something changes or I collapse into either a) a coughing fit (yes I have another cold) or b) a set of false contractions.)