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Home Is Where the Hearts Are
A Dad's Eye View of Bringing Baby Home for the First Time
By Mark Stackpole
The walls were pink and the ceiling lavender. The crib, more expensive than my first car, had been assembled with the greatest care that a hopeless handyman like me could muster. It is wrong for something that can be built with allen wrenches to cost so much. But was it all good enough? It was going to be her bedroom, and I was concerned that it wouldn't be good enough. Were the walls pink enough? Did the ceiling need to be lavender-er? Would she make it through the night in that crib? Could my allen-wrenching be trusted?
The insecurity I felt about my workmanship would not change the fact that she would be coming home. Soon. She wasn't even born yet, and she was already going to give me a heart attack – was I ready for a lifetime of this? Is any dad?
When Corinne finally did arrive, they actually let us take her home. (Didn't they know that I had no idea what I was doing?) I strapped her into the rear-facing seat, which was almost as expensive as the crib-that-cost-more-than-my-first-car. For that kind of money, it should have installed itself, but I ended up having it professionally installed because I couldn't figure out the two straps and single buckle. (Many police stations offer this service if you find yourself throwing the seat from the car in frustration, all while screaming obscenities in front of the neighbors. What? Like that didn't happen when you tried to put it in.) I can tell you the time we left the hospital, the weather on that day, the fact that I drove 15 mph the whole way home, insisting that my wife spend the entire trip twisted around so that she could look at Corinne to make sure that she was OK.
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