Evidently 1966 has come and gone and you can’t just give birth and hop in the front seat and takeoff for home. A car seat is mandatory and if you weren’t aware of this, you probably shouldn’t be having a kid.
I waited until the morning of delivery to try and install this plastic migraine. I was the guy sitting in my driveway with both back doors open, walking around the car, getting in on different sides thinking my angle of approach would help, pulling on my hair and rifling obscenities at the neighborhood gawkers. This is one of those situations where, once you get it installed, you feel like a complete dipshit because it should’ve taken five minutes instead of two hours.
I eventually got it locked in and thought it looked good, however, my wife seems to have a heightened sense of detail and called bullshit on me. A few days after we got home from the hospital, we were out running some errands and while buckling Ava in, she decided that this thing didn’t look right, even though my method of installation completely matched up with the instructions. We drove around (slowly with hazards) for awhile, as I defended my handiwork. Part of being married is knowing when to pick your battles and in this case, I figured it was better to be safe, rather than sorry.
I remember a friend once telling me that fire and police stations will take the time to show you in person, so we decided to try it out and let them settle it. I’ll admit that I have a hard time asking for help, especially from other dudes. This ‘hard time’ becomes seriously amplified when the rookie firefighter helping you and your wife looks like Brad Pitt in Fight Club. This fucking guy looked like Mr. May in the fireman calendar. As it turns out, I ended up being right (for once) and rubbed it in my wife’s face the entire ride home.