if you build it, they will come
I don't know who the they are, but I built it and so far, nothing.
So I went to Ikea on Monday and got Daniel a new cot. The Hensvik, which I think is Swedish for ha ha HA. Cot, by the way, is Australian for crib. We have cribs here too, but they're the style smaller cots that smaller babies tend to sleep in. Like bassinets, you know, but more...wooden.
Daniel's is a nice, simple cot that converts into a junior bed, so if his father's stature (or lack thereof) is anything to go by, it should suit him until he's at least seventeen.
The flat box was delivered on Wednesday afternoon, and taking into consideration naptimes et al, I got to building the cot sometime on Thursday. And build it I did. I built the living fuck out of that bitch. On my own with one borrowed hammer, two screw drivers and that weird little Ikea key.
The cot ends and railings were put together before Daniel needed his room back to take a nap, which as an aside, he took like a true champion. Once squawk and he was out like a light. Meanwhile I took the hammer and the rest of the cot parts into the next room and hammered the the crap out of everything so that the cot base ready for insertion by the time the deebs woke up two hours later. When he did, I gave him a kiss on the head and then totally ignored him so I could drag the cot base back into the room and bolt it together with the bits I'd completed earlier. Daniel, of course, protested to playing second fiddle to his new bed, so again with the squawking. So I picked him up and plonked him into my lap, and ignoring the dump he'd recently taken in his pants because by god, I was going to finish thisthing RIGHT NOW, returned to my construction work. Also, his change table was a mess of nuts and bolts and Ikea keys and all, and I didn't want to have to remove it all and break the vibe I had going on, and in order to change him on the floor or the bed or anywhere else other than his actual change table, I really need to hold him down with a foot to his chest and as I mentioned, vibe, so was totally not up to breaking it with any strongarm tactics.
Fast forward to the absolute fact that I can build a cot out of several thousand unidentifiable parts, using only a stick figure on a few folded bits of paper to guide me. I can do anything. I could build me a damn house if I wanted to, and I could do it on my own while holding a baby in my lap.
In realised yesterday that there are two kinds of people in this world. There are those who after experiencing the joy that is Ikea declare "Never again!!", and then there are those who after the cursing and the swearing and the wondering which end is in fact up, go over all "Bring. It. ON, motherfuckers!!", while shaking their closed fist at the sky, and yes, that would be me.
The batteries in my camera died, so in lieu of the finished cot...he's rather mismatched in his attire, but he's still as cute as fuck so, enjoy.
note the blue teddy bear on the left. It was given to me by his father on my birthday. I put it on the change table so Daniel could pee on it.
So I went to Ikea on Monday and got Daniel a new cot. The Hensvik, which I think is Swedish for ha ha HA. Cot, by the way, is Australian for crib. We have cribs here too, but they're the style smaller cots that smaller babies tend to sleep in. Like bassinets, you know, but more...wooden.
Daniel's is a nice, simple cot that converts into a junior bed, so if his father's stature (or lack thereof) is anything to go by, it should suit him until he's at least seventeen.
The flat box was delivered on Wednesday afternoon, and taking into consideration naptimes et al, I got to building the cot sometime on Thursday. And build it I did. I built the living fuck out of that bitch. On my own with one borrowed hammer, two screw drivers and that weird little Ikea key.
before
The cot ends and railings were put together before Daniel needed his room back to take a nap, which as an aside, he took like a true champion. Once squawk and he was out like a light. Meanwhile I took the hammer and the rest of the cot parts into the next room and hammered the the crap out of everything so that the cot base ready for insertion by the time the deebs woke up two hours later. When he did, I gave him a kiss on the head and then totally ignored him so I could drag the cot base back into the room and bolt it together with the bits I'd completed earlier. Daniel, of course, protested to playing second fiddle to his new bed, so again with the squawking. So I picked him up and plonked him into my lap, and ignoring the dump he'd recently taken in his pants because by god, I was going to finish thisthing RIGHT NOW, returned to my construction work. Also, his change table was a mess of nuts and bolts and Ikea keys and all, and I didn't want to have to remove it all and break the vibe I had going on, and in order to change him on the floor or the bed or anywhere else other than his actual change table, I really need to hold him down with a foot to his chest and as I mentioned, vibe, so was totally not up to breaking it with any strongarm tactics.
Fast forward to the absolute fact that I can build a cot out of several thousand unidentifiable parts, using only a stick figure on a few folded bits of paper to guide me. I can do anything. I could build me a damn house if I wanted to, and I could do it on my own while holding a baby in my lap.
In realised yesterday that there are two kinds of people in this world. There are those who after experiencing the joy that is Ikea declare "Never again!!", and then there are those who after the cursing and the swearing and the wondering which end is in fact up, go over all "Bring. It. ON, motherfuckers!!", while shaking their closed fist at the sky, and yes, that would be me.
The batteries in my camera died, so in lieu of the finished cot...he's rather mismatched in his attire, but he's still as cute as fuck so, enjoy.
note the blue teddy bear on the left. It was given to me by his father on my birthday. I put it on the change table so Daniel could pee on it.
posted by aibee at 14:31
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