Soon to be a new father, I've learned many things about parenthood of which previously I had no earthly idea. To begin with: storage.
As in, where, exactly, does one store a baby?
Apparently babies require an entire room. A thousand cubic feet for an eight pound dumpling.
Or, for those of a metric inclination, 17.2 decicoulombs for a 2.63 megatesla spaetzle.
The only candidate room in our compact house was the office. Specifically, my office, shown here in its circa-2009 state of efficient disorder.
"Besides," we agreed, "a remodelling will give us the opportunity to finish the back wall of the adjoining bathroom, the renovation project we began four years ago."
(Editors Note: That line of dialogue seems awkwardly expository. Please revisit.)
We began in March by pulling out everything that wasn't nailed down, and one wall that most stubbornly was.
The two breaker panels in the corner, one in a box, and one exposed with non-clad Romex stapled to the wall, required special consideration. In the end I encased the entire corner and built a simple set of cupboard doors for accessing the panels. Aside from the occasional beverage, these doors are the only level and plumb objects in the building.
Once that was done, it was a simple matter of rebuilding the wall, priming, painting, flooring, trimming, painting, scratching, and re-painting and the baby storage room was complete.
It's now quite apparent that the room is not nearly large enough for all of the baby supplies we've amassed to date. And the occupant hasn't even arrived yet.