Eviction notice

People have all different reasons for moving—financial surplus, neighborhood degradation, empty nesting. And some people literally cannot roll over without hitting their ginormous heads on either side of their bassinet.

Like a beautiful albeit shockingly immobile butterfly, Bub has outgrown the cocoon known as his sleeping quarters and been given his eviction notice to vacate the premises immediately. At five months of age, I’d say we got our money’s worth on that one. Like our Yugo, I was sure we could squeeze one more year out of it, but Bub, with his typical subtleties (i.e. kicking and punching the walls for hours on end), begged to differ. It was time to make the move.

Now while moving for many of us conjures up images of slipped discs, underappreciated friends and that awkward kitchen gadget box, moving Bub was a completely different flavor of misery. The concept was simple enough—move him out of exhibit A (bassinet) and into his exhibit B (crib), the only problem being that exhibit B was 80 percent unassembled. So like the Pilgrims of yore (or at least a novice camper), we toiled till sunset assembling his new abode.

We had the advantage of a second-hand crib, so there were far fewer bells and whistles than the new ones these days. Or at least how I envision the new ones to be. Of course, we had the disadvantage of having no instructions, so it was more of a jigsaw puzzle than anything. Patience is key. Beer helps. Make sure you have the right tools handy before you start. Set aside a couple hours, preferably during a game of any sort for some background noise.

The actual assembly was not that difficult, it was more the idea of it. What the crib really meant. The thought of our first empty nest had us subconsciously putting it off for weeks. These bedding quarters represented little Bub’s first taste of independence. Moving out of his parent’s room and getting his own crib. Literally. Whoa, at three months? Man, one day he’s sucking contentedly on his own burp rag, the next he’s borrowing the Yugo.

But he’s settled in nicely. Like the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, I’d say it was quite an upgrade for the Bubster, if only from a real estate point of view. He basically went from a windowless studio on a bustling block to a bright and spacious one-bedroom in a quiet neighborhood. He gets good light. He can roll over without risking contusion. He has a bright, soft thingy to look at. And a whole room of possibilities to tickle his curiosity.