The Advice They Don’t Give

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by gray pieces of balsa wood and instructions with incomprehensible diagrams, two dogs sit and watch my descent into madness.

-Your life is going to change forever.

-You’re never going to sleep again.

-She’ll make you a better person.

-Children are such a blessing.

These clichés are supposed to help. Their speakers mean well. But if they really wanted to help, they’d be here to pass Dowel Rod F and warn me that I put this side together backwards, Mother F-

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by alphabet stickers and spilled washers, searching for Screw H and Cam Lock M to put into Base Board C, I realize that all those people are full of shit. Why didn’t anyone tell me what to really expect?

-Paint samples for the nursery that Anna says are different, but they’re not.

-So many trips to IKEA that I can write a thesis on the differences between a Kurtz and Holggendolsca.

-Between furniture and toys, I’m in the Allen Wrench circle of Hell.

-A growing bitterness that someone was paid to write and design instructions that require an as of yet undiscovered Rosetta-Stone to understand.

And this is only the beginning. The rest of my life will be trips to the store because I’ll never have the right type of batteries on hand, fighting to open hard-plastic containers, and debating which way the twist-ties actually go so I can get the stupid toy out of the stupid box.

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of scraps and hardware that are supposed to be a crib, but I don’t see it. I’ve been here for so long that I think I might be losing my mind.

-Did the dogs just laugh at me?

-I swear the screwdriver is alive and hides under things when it’s needed.

-Moving on to Step 6… Didn’t I already do Step 6?

-My leg is asleep. Maybe I’m asleep, and this is just a fever dream.

I realize I don’t know what I’m doing. I need an adult! Oh God… I’m going to be a father…. Am I the adult? I’m the adult….

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by fear and uncertainty, I don’t know how I got here. How did I allow myself to get caught? I was just a kid, no cares in the world. Now the universe is on my shoulders. Lifting up Crib Side D, my life is seen through barred perspective.

-I’m wearing black and white stripes, a ball and chain around my ankle.

-A guard walks by, asks if I need help as she stares down at me through aviator lenses.

-Somewhere on the block, a harmonica plays its melancholy truth.

-There’s no escape until it’s my turn to ride the lightening.

I’m innocent. I didn’t do anything. They’ve got the wrong guy. I’m not a husband or father. I’m just a guy. A boy who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I need a lawyer. They got the wrong guy. I’m innocent. I’m innocent!

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by memories, the last ten years play across my mind like an old slide show. Black and white stills of a life that feels so far away, flicker and dance.

-Getting on one knee in front of our Christmas Tree.

-Leaving the apartment and moving to our first house.

-Countless visits to doctors and the following bad news.

-Her smile when we finally get the news.

I’m in this. We’re in this. Things are happening and the world is going to change. People are going to look at me for answers. She’s going to expect me to guide and teach her. It’s time to find my big boy pants.

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by misunderstanding and doubt, the crib taunts me. Guard Railing B and the mysteries of how the shit it attaches to Legs G and H elude my grasp.

-How can I raise a baby if I can’t put together her crib?

-How can I raise a child if I don’t have her toys’ correct batteries on hand?

-How can I be supportive and understanding if I can’t see the difference between Harbor and Rhino Gray.

-How can I do this if I’m an idiot?

So many questions. Too many questions. They burst out of my head and swallow me in a soul crushing black hole. A suffocating vacuum that steals light, sound, tears, and hope.

Sitting in the recliner, surrounded by expectations and daydreams, I stare at the finally completed crib. A tiny blanket dotted with smiling animals rests behind my head. The world’s wittlest shoes wave hello. Leaning back, my eyes slowly close.

-A little girl bounces in my arms.

-She fusses and tiny drops dot my chest.

-Silly faces make her smile and laugh.

-She grabs my finger and looks at me with her mother’s crystal blue eyes.

I can do this. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll figure it out. No one gives out any answers. They don’t have them. They have advice. Advice that makes as much sense as those God-less instructions, may that worthless paper burn for eternity. Maybe parenting is like putting together a crib. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.