One of the things I noticed, even before Baby Girl was born was how much stuff babies need. Not that I would deny anything to Baby Girl, because let’s face it, I would buy her anything she asked for, if she could ask in a language I could understand at this point (“Half a million flashing lights set to the terminally chipper sounds of your baby toys? No problem. Give me a half hour, I have to sell the car.”). But having said that, I am astounded by the shear amount of toys, clothes, furniture, accessories, health products and organizational items this kid has accumulated.
Mommy and I have about five pieces of major furniture in the living room. On any given day, Baby Girl has four. There is the exer-saucer (her office), the playpen/crib (which in its capacity as a crib, she refuses to sleep in right now), the stroller (she used to like being rocked to sleep in it), and her play blankets. All of this stays out in the living room because at any given time, our little diva may have the need for one of them, and when Baby Girl wants something specific, she wants something specific. Nothing else will do.
This list doesn’t include the swing she has grown out of, the rocker she is kind of “meh” about these days, the dresser (bigger than me and Mommy’s dresser), and the bin of toys in the other room. Again, nothing I’m complaining about because of course, we want Baby Girl to have everything she needs (“You desire a pony farm with a tea party house? No sweat kiddo, Daddy only needs one kidney.)
And the clothes…dear Jeebus, the clothes. I know where women get their closet sense from. It is bred into them at birth. Baby Girl has more outfits than she knows what to do with. And I mean that literally, she would probably be happy in the same onesie for six days at a time, kind of like Daddy and the shorts he wears every day. But that wouldn’t do because, Baby Girl is a cute Baby Girl and her wardrobe must reflect that. The only problem is that Baby Girl is growing like a weed. What fit her last night, no longer fits her in the morning. Which means that as soon as we buy an outfit, we best get her dressed, break out the camera and take pictures while we can, otherwise we’ll never get the chance to see her in them again.
As I’m sure will happen a lot now that I am a parent, I understand something I never understood before I was a parent, namely how frustrated my parents got when they had to buy more clothes for a little person they just bought clothes for a few days ago (maybe a slight exaggeration on the time frame, but another thing I’m beginning to realize is that days fly by at the speed of thought when you’re taking care of a kid).
Now, none of this means I resent Baby Girl for her prodigious amount of stuff, nor would I take any of it away from her, or deny her anything she wants (“You want formula flavored with spices from a remote, almost impossible to reach region of the Kashmir mountains? Give Daddy a minute, he has to arrange a sherpa and some armed guards.”). What it does mean is that I am astounded at the lengths I will go to for another human being, given that I usually have trouble justifying washing a dish for myself if there’s another, perhaps less appropriate, but fully functional alternative available – for example I have in the past used the coffee pot for cereal.
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