Burritos and Bassinets

For the first time in my married life of more than 4 1/2 years, I nearly ruined dinner.

I didn't mean to, I just got caught up in other things. I made the world's easiest dinner, which only added to the aggravation that it wasn't perfect. Black Bean and Mango burritos aren't supposed to be able to be nearly ruined. I didn't have canned Black Beans, so I quick-boiled some ("quick" being a ridiculous term in this sense - they take 2 hours to cook). I overestimated how much time it had been since I had put the beans on, and started cooking the onions, garlic, chicken, cumin and pepper. They cooked a little too long - dry. The beans didn't cook quite long enough - chewy. The mangoes, however, simmered in lemon juice and a touch of brown sugar, were perfect. Himself graciously ate the burritos, even though they weren't nearly as good as they usually are. I had frozen yogurt, because after hours of waiting for the beans to be done, I had had enough of them and was no longer hungry. Sometime before I went to bed, I ended up having a grilled cheese sandwich.

There is something to say about being an adult - you can cook a fabulous (okay, it was intended to be fabulous) meal, choose not to eat it, and no one cares.

In my defense, the reason dinner was nearly ruined (I say "nearly" because it was still edible, it looked pretty, and no one died of food poisoning) was because I put my foot down. I told Himself that tonight, even if it meant shoving boxes to the other side of the room, Baby Girl would have a bed. Himself took me at face value and shoved the boxes across the room, assuming, I suppose this meant I would completely forget their existence and not make him unpack them. I drug the Pack-n-Play my sister so generously bought for us into Baby Girl's room.

Dinner remained on the stove, the beans boiling away, the chicken just beginning to cook.

Himself questioned whether or not we should wait until after dinner to commence the handyman project. I scoffed, "the beans take forever to cook - it will be too late after." (Too late for what, I'm not sure).

Himself dumped out all the parts. I dove for the instructions.

Two minutes later - the Pack-n-Play was installed, complete with mattress pad thingy at the bottom. Then I turned the page. It said, "If you are installing the bassinet component, do not install the mattress pad thingy" (I'm paraphrasing here). Why they couldn't have put that on the PRIOR page, I have no idea.

So we take the matress pad thingy out and resume reading, or, rather, staring at the teeny little images in the instruction book that seems to think one doesn't need words to describe what is going on in said illustrations.

Twenty minutes later - Himself and I had nearly come to blows on whose idea it was to put this together "right this very second." The bassinet remained in seemingly 100 pieces on the floor (okay, really there were about 7 pieces, none of which seemed to make sense). We both went to retrieve the packing box, which had a full-color photo on the outside.

Lightbulb moment. Aha! That's where such-and-such piece goes.

Five minutes later - I remember the chicken is still "cooking" and run to investigate. Himself realizes that the bassinet has a vibrator. Several jokes ensue from the back room (I wish I could say "shocking," but I'd be lying).

Five minutes later - Himself declares we cannot possibly finish assembly now because the vibrator needs D batteries. We're lucky if we have AA batteries on hand. I patiently explain that Baby Girl isn't due for another month, and do we really need a vibrator in the bassinet anyway? He acquiesces, we finish the bassinet.

Ten minutes later - we are having one heck of a time getting the changing table component put together. I give up and focus on the mobile - patting myself on the back when it takes me mere seconds, without the aid of the useless instructions. Then I wander over to give my helpful advice on the changing table. I confidently take the pieces and put them together. We consult the box. I've put it together backwards. Ooops. Himself rolls his eyes and spends another ten minutes trying to just as confidently put it together the right way.

Fifteen minutes later - feeling completely stupid and now realizing that dinner is probably well overdone, we celebrate the completion of Baby Girl's bed assembly by trying out the musical dohicky on the side of the Pack-n-Play. I go in to investiate dinner. The beans seem done. The chicken looks edible. Himself has a burrito. I ask how it is (it doesn't matter if I've made the meal 1,000 times, I always ask. Himself always answers with brutal honesty). Himself replies, "the flavor rocks, but the beans aren't done and the chicken is dead."

We shove the chewy beans and dead chicken into the fridge and, feeling like the invincible soon-to-be-new-parents we are, we head out for Target to utilize our gift cards on Baby Girl "necessities" so that I can sleep tonight.

Little did we know, in that, another adventure awaited us.