your practicing evidences a serious problem, try to borrow a friend's drill press.
(Borrow or rent when possible, rather than buy.)
The crib, as I said, is the most real, most vital piece of furniture for your
baby. It took me two days, part of which was spent refiguring the plans as I built.
Mostly it's a job of sawing and drilling and snapping together. And it gives a
great sense of accomplishment.
On the first day I cut and assembled the back, sides, base, and mattress board.
I attached the board at desk height, pulled up a chair and sat down at the "desk."
And I imagined the desk in use. I come from a large family. I was the oldest.
Whenever my mother was pregnant, she referred to the unborn baby as "Im-
ogene." I grew up thinking that "Imogene" meant baby-in-the-belly. As I sat at
this new desk, too over the hill to have any more babies (thank God!), I whispered
into the crib desk space, "Hello, Imogene, your crib will take you to college." Just
then my younger son, Sam, came in. "Hey, mom, can I have that when the book is
finished?" he asked. (So it turns out that though I didn't build him a crib twelve
years ago, he's getting the desk. David, my older, had already had dibs on the
changing table for a cabinet.)
The next day I grappled with the measuring for the dowels and the drilling.
The dowels went in, this way and that, the frame around it joined. Here came the
excitement! I held it against the desk. Behold: a crib! Fantastic! I hinged the two
sections together and screwed the lower section into the sides. I felt wonderful. A
crib. Imagine that. Do it. You'll feel wonderful, too.