The Truth about Registering

I thought that registering for our little bundle of joy would be super, duper fun.  I thought it would be a great time.  I imagined Jared and me strolling carefree through a giant box store with a scan gun, beeping adorable little things that we DEFINITELY NEEDED. 

I have a confession to make: none of these things happened, and the truth is we have no clue what we need. 

Registering for gifts gave me the biggest migraine of my life and almost a full on anxiety attack.  Let me first say that we decided to register at Babies R Us for many reasons, but mainly because our choices in San Antonio are VERY limited, and because we wanted to pick a place that also has locations near our hometown for friends and family that may be interested in seeing what the babe needs.  (Online stores weren't an option for us.)  So Babies R Us it is!

Firstly, our Babies R Us is disgusting.  I could have this impression because immediately upon our arrival, I had to use the restroom (for the eight millionth time that day) and walked into it, only to start gagging.  To say that their bathroom was dirty is an UNDERSTATEMENT.  It was vile.  After visiting the dirtiest-bathroom-on-the-planet, we headed to the registry desk, where a pimply faced, sixteen year old kid (wearing a sign that said "Expert" no less), collected our information, and then handed us a list of HUNDREDS of things we supposedly need for the baby and a scan gun.  Perfect. 

(PS: I wadded the list up and shoved it into the bottom of my purse.)

Our browsing started in strollers.  This part was easy.  I already had one picked out and I knew it wasn't in-store--I had to add it online.  (I have FAR too much to say about strollers so there's another post coming about those babies.)

Since I already had the stroller figured out, I started to feel pretty good.  PRETTY. CONFIDENT.  Until we turned the corner and I was faced with a WALL of car seats.  OH MY LORD.  You guys, there were zillions of car seats, and to be truthful, they all look exactly the same to me.  I've done a mind-numbing amount of research on car seats and five point safety harnesses and all kinds of other crap, but in my opinion, they aren't all that different in the end.  All brands have to meet minimum safety requirements, and I knew that I wanted a Graco Snugride because it has the highest safety ratings, and is the most affordable.  However, did you guys know that there's like a zillion Snugride models?  There's a 20, 30, 35, and apparently now a 40. 

Thank God at that exact moment, another pregnant lady waddled up and scanned a random Snugride.  She must have seen the incoming anxiety attack on my face, because she helpfully then offered, "This is the newest model, and it's the safest and the best."  I just said, "Really....?" and before I could even mutter anything else, she said, "Believe me.  I've spent the last WEEK of my life researching carseats."  Oh, poor pregnant mama.  She looked exhausted.  I wanted to tell her...I know how you feel.  I practically killed all my brain cells last week researching strollers.  But I didn't say anything.  I just pointed the gun at that box and scanned the sucker. 

Next up, we rounded the corner and were faced HEAD ON with breastfeeding supplies.  That's BASICALLY when everything went downhill.  It all started because there was a breast pump placed prominently on the shelf with a GIANT picture of a lady on the front with a pump on each boob, just going to town.  Her boobs looked like full on Johnsonville sausages in the picture, and let's be honest....she looked a bit like a cow hooked up to farm equipment.  As if that's not shocking enough, Jared just stares, then incredulously yells, "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?", then proceeds to brandish his iPhone and take pictures of the poor milk-maid on the front.  I'm now equal parts amused (because c'mon...it IS funny) and HORRIFIED because, I'm thinking...that might be ME in four months.  BUT IT CAN'T BE.

OH YES IT CAN.

At this point, we stopped knowing or understanding what ANYTHING was.  I mean, what the hell?  Does a woman need a Boppy or a Breast Friend (not kidding)?  And what kind of butt cream does a baby need?  Because there's like twenty.  Baby monitors...voice or video?  Baby baths...WHAT. THE. HECK.  There was a "baby spa" that Jared was sure our baby needs.  It comes with relaxing sounds, a bubble mechanism, and it's own sprayer.  After fifteen minutes of heated discussion, we opted for the plain, plastic whale. 

Next was bedding.  Babies R Us doesn't have the highest quality stuff (in my opinion) so we spent at least an hour trying to decide the best sheets available.  Were they the percale?  Or the jersey?  And then they had things we've never heard of....like a sheet saver.  I tried to tell Jared that I had no clue what it was, so we clearly didn't need it, but Jared claims that it's basically something for the baby to puke on, so we DID need it.  THERE ARE NOW TWO ON THE REGISTRY.  Baby Mattresses?  Babies R Us had not a SINGLE ONE in stock, so we couldn't even decide that.  Onesies and socks?  Also NONE in stock at our Babies R Us.  It's basically the worst BRU ever.  HOWEVER...

You guys.  Sound machines. Waterproof pads.  Nipple cream. Rectal thermometers.  Sheet savers.  Playyards.  Entering Babies R Us is like walking into ANOTHER FREAKING WORLD.  And that world might just blow your mind.  I mean, my mind was definitely blown.  My  head was spinning.  We hit a point about two and a half hours in where Jared just literally said, "I think you've hit your limit. Let's go home now and feed you." 

And I just want to tell all you other women out there to not feel bad if you walk in and feel overwhelmed.  Because (I think?) it might be normal.

And so we left, but not before I scanned the ONE and ONLY item in the entire store that I was positively sure that I wanted.  And ironically, it's the ONE item in the entire store that Jared tried to insist that we don't need.  It was a stroller fan.  Yinz.  I REALLY want that stroller fan.  I can just picture myself now walking down the street with my most adorable baby ever, with my super fancy red stroller, with the fan blowing my long, perfectly done hair back, very model-esque.  It will be great.  I will stroll around the block every day and this stroller fan is going to make me look AMAZING.

The moral of this whole story?  I think I may have a problem with setting my expecations too high.  Yes?