Standing on the street corner with my bucket

We registered this week for baby stuff. It felt a little reminiscent of when we registered for our wedding. Except – you know – we knew what to expect when we got married – life does not change that drastically when you live together before getting married. We did not know what we needed to register for this baby. Yes we need a car seat, Yes we need a pack-n-play/bassinet combo. Yes, we need a high chair – but really – we don’t need it until he’s older. Yes we need a stroller. Yes we need sheets. Bottles? What kind? How many? We don’t know. I had my friend Stephanie come up on Sunday and she was a tremendous help. She has 2 little ones, one 14 months and the other 3 years old – he’ll be 4 in October.

She graciously told us what she thought were good buys and what she thought wasn’t necessary. Things they will give us in the hospital and therefore we do not need to register for. Things that she found useful and things she found completely useless.

We managed to create quite a registry between the 2 stores, and I’m going to guess that not much of it is bought, because it’s expensive stuff or it’s just plain boring.

The thing is that I feel very much like I’m just begging. Plain old, stand under the overpass and harass the people who drive by for money begging. And the things we put on the registry are just unimaginably expensive - and who in their right mind would buy me a $300 breast pump?

Playing Cards

I don’t often play the pregnancy card. When I do, it’s because I know something is either beyond my limitations or it could be dangerous for the fetus.

Discussions around our house however have become more frequent regarding my use of the pregnancy card, and I often, jokingly flash it – but I’m not really serious about it. I have never been and don’t want to be a damsel in distress.

Things I have been accused of “playing the pregnancy card” for, but I have good reason not to do them:

• Lifting heavy objects – and generally – I try to pick something up first – I do know my limitations and when I feel like I would be straining I stop and call for help.
  

• Picking up dog poo in the backyard – this is a sore point for Clint – as he believes only cat poo is the enemy, but I seriously don’t think that my handling feces of any kind could possibly be good for the baby – and I’m sure I could back that up by clicking a few links on-line – but it’s my own instinct that I should not be handling feces of any kind.
  

• Walking slower – my muscles are not holding like they used to and my abdomen hurts sharply if I walk too fast.

I feel like I might be missing out on an opportunity here, so I have decided that I need to come up with a pregnancy card. It will be similar in size to those joke cards they have at Spencer’s, like a credit card, and it will work miraculously as a get out of jail free card, only you should not surrender your pregnancy card to anyone until you give birth, and at that time you will trade your “Pregnancy” card in for a “Post Partum” card.