I remember, during my first pregnancy, how anxious I was to get to the 18-week ultrasound and find out the genders of my babies, so I could start registering and shopping. So much fun! So much stuff! Baby showers! Whee! I was relatively well-stocked on some things (high chairs in boxes in the basement for a solid 7 months before we needed them), and weirdly stocked on others (no bouncy seats, and lots of summer-weather clothes in size 9-months for my August babies). But I was excited. I organized and rearranged them several times, and was totally clueless about what essentials we were missing (no swing?!).
This time around, there is no registry, no baby shower. No gifts pouring in from excited relatives for the first-time parents. And, on my side, there was no immediate need or anxiety to get it all in the weeks after my mid-pregnancy ultrasound. Which is not to say that I already had everything I needed… in fact, I had long since sold or given away everything. 99.9% of the clothes, gone. Carseats, sold. Exersaucer and swing passed along years ago. I don’t regret chucking it all. Baby #3 was such a question mark, and I had no need to store it all in my attic for 3 or 4 years, just in case.
Nah, this time I really haven’t been sweating it. Having been through infancy before, I have a much clearer sense of what I do and do not need, not to mention when I actually need it. I know that, even if I slacked off until the very last moment, I could order a carseat and a pack of diapers from Amazon and they’d be delivered before I was discharged from the hospital, and I could send my mother-in-law to Target to pick up a few onesies. In short, I have been in no rush to accumulate baby gear.
Until recently.
Suddenly, I’m on something of a baby shopping spree. Much more so than before, I am picking things up gently used from people in my Moms of Twins club. The website we use for our group has a separate section for classifieds, which I’ve largely ignored for the last year or so. Now, I scour the digest when it arrives in my email every morning. I’ve scored a swing, a bouncy seat, a clip-on high chair (no free-standing one this time) an exersaucer, a play mat, a moby wrap, a high-end breast pump with a shopping bag full of bottles and storage bags, and few other things… and I think I’ve spent about $100 on all of it, combined. Several of the big items were free, and one was something I originally bought for my own kids, and it has found its way back.
There are some things, though, that I want new. My carseat (don’t get me started on how ridiculous I think the higher weight limits are), my stroller. I have a weird thing about wanting new clothes, and I know it’s probably wasteful or silly, but it’s my thing. Sales at Old Navy and Target and Carter’s have the closet in the spare room suddenly brimming with onesies and footie pajamas in size 0-3 months.
And, of course, there’s the subject of the not-spare-for-much-longer room, where there is still a queen-sized guest bed instead of a crib. The new crib is in a box in the garage (thanks to the fact that the old ones were recalled), but I haven’t yet picked up a mattress. There’s no dresser for storing all of those little clothes I’m accumulating. I’m tempted to make a run to IKEA, but given my recent history and overall energy level, that seems unwise.
Still, things are coming together. Time is ticking down, supplies are piling up. I’ve got a list of things I still “need,” but I’m not worried. I’m fairly low on the nesting intensity level. We’ll get it all, eventually.
If I sit and think about it, it’s a little bit bittersweet to think that my babies aren’t such little babies anymore. I think about how tiny they used to be in those carseats they’re now outgrowing. I think about how the Snap N Go was a lifesaver, that I wouldn’t have been able to leave the house without it in those early weeks and months. But then I remember what those first weeks and months were like. And I quickly snap out of it and remember how much happier I am now, with fun and nearly-mobile eight-month-olds, than in the hazy, hellish days of eight-week-olds. Yeah… see you later, newborn stuff!
