I love a to do list.  In fact, sometimes I write my to do list just so I can experience the joy of crossing items off of my list.  For like every five important items on that list I write something completely obvious that takes zero amount of time to complete just so I can cross it off.  Make bed.  Kiss Husband.  Eat dinner.  It feels good, like I accomplished a task and therefore give myself credit for completing something other than watching Oprah and Facebooking, i.e. procrastinating.

Today, however, my to do list includes an important errand.  Buy stroller.  It says so right at the top of the list.  I wouldn’t be a type A (that’s for anal, not annoying like my husband thinks or asshole like that lady who flipped me off today in traffic thinks) list making Pregnant Girl if I also didn’t take the time to research.  And you know what.  There are so many freakin’ strollers it’s not even funny.  They all have peculiar names and they all do different things, but basically all do the same thing.   Because, um, obviously they all have the same objection, allowing me to stroll my perfect sleeping baby around town while keeping my hands free so I can shop.  (There go my husband’s eyes rolling into the back of his head again.)

I already knew what I wanted and where to buy, I was just waiting for 8 weeks out like the book suggests (that one might be A for annoying).  My father in law is such a gem that he offered to buy it for us.  I could just kiss him for his kindness, but that might give away the fact that he is being so over the top generous and I’m not all that sure he actually realizes what he is about to get himself into. 

We stopped for lunch first and hoping to soften, or at least blur the blow to the wallet he was about to experience I suggested he have a beer.  He thought that was oh so hilarious “I haven’t had a beer in 35 years, since the day we had our first child.”  This also seems like a cruel joke, I mean here this man is allowed to drink and he chooses not to.  I can practically taste the wine I dreamt about last night, but in the interest of my child, that needs the top notch stroller, I refrain.  Also, I totally knew he didn’t drink which is why I was sure just one beer would have him drunk enough to smile while purchasing The Stroller.  That is how I am going to say it from now on, The Stroller, because it is that haughty.

We arrive at The Stroller store and the nice sales lady gives a bang up demonstration showing my FIL how the stroller pretty much babysits your child.  Then she rings him up and I cringe because here it comes.  “THAT IS MORE THAN MY FIRST CAR COST.”  Yes, at that volume so the entire store can hear.  This is when I assure him we can buy our own stroller.  The thing is my mother in law, his wife and therefore his boss, left town and told him one thing.  “Be a dear and go with Pregnant Girl to buy the stroller for our first and possible only (that part is a total dig at me for waiting until I was 35 to get pregnant) grandchild.”  And now he must.  He knows it and I know it.  So I smile embarrassingly and thank him while apologizing profusely to the sales lady for the outburst.

On the way home he said the beer might have been a good idea after all.

Do you notice how until you become pregnant nobody really talks about ALL the stuff you will apparently need for your baby?  The list is endless and I have a sneaking suspicion that most of the stuff will quickly be categorized as c & s, otherwise known as crap and shit that never gets used.  I am constantly going through our house tossing the c in the trash and secretly hiding the s before my husband notices I’ve up and thrown it away.  Maybe it’s the nesting, but as I fulfill my sudden urge to make labels for everything (i.e. spoons, yeah like my husband had a lobotomy and would never find the spoons if they weren’t labeled, but whatever) I have an even stronger urge to dump the c & s and am having a hard time wanting to replace it with baby sized c & s. 

Naturally, I was sure to wait until the weather was perfect and college football was on TV to drop the bomb that we must go register.  As we drove to the baby store we actually laughed at the couples who were crazy enough to go home with the random s.  Feeling in control and facing a momentary, completely unsubstantiated superiority complex, we made a plan to stick with the basics; onesies, bottles, burp cloths and you get the point.  I know you know where this is going, because you are probably Pregnant Girl too and we all become slaves to the baby sized c & s. 

Suddenly we need special spoons, a baby bathtub that looks like an oversized bucket I use to mop the floor, a brush just to clean bottles (definitely putting a label on that one), brightly colored keys to shake (and rattle?) at crying baby and a bib that says My Mom is Hotter Than Yours.  Why you ask?  Why do educated couples everywhere get sucked in?  I will tell you, plain and simple fear. 

We buy, and if we are lucky enough to have suckers for friends, we register for all this c & s out of pure unadulterated fear.  If you leave one random thing off the list you will definitely be stuck in some chic store, having missed the memo that babies are not all the rage with their staff, and your baby will have the mother of all meltdowns.  Then the one nice woman in the store, who naturally raised 5 valedictorians, will undoubtedly point out that all you need is that one item, the one that you did not get because it was just another silly, noise making, money sucking, apparent necessity.  And if that happens you will feel like a failure.  Like you failed at the one job you cannot, will not fail at and so instead, just in case, you carry a diaper bag full of c & s (sometimes literally).

Please take a second to click here and vote for us!