The whole concept of making a list just so people know what to buy you is fairly ridiculous to me. I got to help build our baby registry and it was quite an experience. I was somewhat prepared since I did the whole registering thing once before when we got married. That time, though, I at least had some clue of what we were going to need. For the first time in my life I own a full size ironing board. I have a corner closet full of dishes I’m not allowed to use. I have more than one set of sheets for the bed I sleep on. And most importantly, I have matching towels. But that was then, and this, obviously, is now. When it comes to registering for a baby, I’m fairly useless. I’m guessing we’ll need some diapers and wipes and a crib, but beyond that, I’m just the guy with the scan gun.
Before I start, I need to disclose I had not had any dinner when we walked through the front door at 6:15 to begin our newest adventure. Once inside though, we sit down at the large registry desk at Babies R Us and are greeted with a very happy sales rep full of gifts, tips, and ideas. She first hands us a bag with a gift of a free baby bottle. It’s supposedly new and one of the hot items that are flying off the shelves. It looked like every other baby bottle I’ve ever seen in my life but she told me to try it and that it works very well. So I told her I’d take it home and give it a whirl tonight and give her my feedback next time I was in the store. After picking herself up off the floor, she informed me that, even to my surprise, that was the first time a guy had ever come back at her with that one. Welcome to baby registering with Phil Lorenzon.
After getting all setup and being issued a scan gun (my weapon of choice for the evening), a book that supposedly answers every question we could ever come up with, and a series of flip cards that contained large pictures of babies and small pieces of information that I couldn’t repeat here if my life depended on it because all I did was carry it around the whole night without even giving it a glance. We eagerly set off and attacked the first aisle in front of us. Food was the furthest thing from my mind at that point.
First aisle: Breast pumps. The smile on my face and glisten in my eye quickly turned to something that probably made those around me think I was drunk. Any sense of expression had quickly passed, my arms were hanging seemingly lifeless by my side, the glisten had turned to a glaze, and I felt a strange and cool tingling sensation pass over me as if I had entered a treacherous purgatory that, like a crab or lobster trap, provides multiple ways in, but no escape for the oblivious. Needless to say I stood silent as Carian and her mom pondered, analyzed, and selected based on a number of different criteria that I will not repeat here as my intention is to keep this page family friendly.
After making their selection, I scanned in my first items with my cool scan gun and quickly averted my attention to whatever hope the next aisle might contain. We found a wall of bottles, binkies (yes, I know what a binkie is) and numerous sorts of feeding paraphernalia. Trust me when I say a bottle is not just a bottle anymore. And there are dozens, nay, hundreds of different makes, models, and colors. Selecting my first house I buy will not be this difficult, I can promise you that. Obediently I scanned the correct selections and quantities while my thoughts wandered to imagining what a feeding time will look like. May God prepare me and give me the strength to survive what I am sure will be a daunting task. As my thoughts moved to feeding time, I felt the first rumbles of an appetite arousing in my own stomach as we moved to the next aisle. An aisle and a wall down, ‘only’ one hour elapsed time.
Following the bottles came baby carriers. I’m not talking about big plastic things you carry around in your hand with a baby strapped inside. I’m talking about backpacks with a head hole at the top. Again, this is something I’ve never personally experienced, but I instantly saw the infinite number of scenarios (primarily pitfalls) I could get myself into by wearing my baby on my back. If I bend over, does she fall out the top? If I lean up against a wall, will she be squashed between concrete and spine? If I point out the right spot, will she scratch my back for me? So many questions I just don’t have answers to.
We finished out the first section of the store by selecting a baby bathing system and a few baby sized towels to dry her off and wrap her up in. We then moved on to strollers and car seats. I graduated from Virginia Tech, a school known for its strong engineering department. I consider myself fairly competent when it comes to putting things together and making things work. How a baby carriage becomes a car seat and back again is something I’m convinced modern science cannot successfully decipher. There are full strollers, then there are car seats that fit into frames, then there are seat bases that accommodate one of the two fore mentioned carrying apparatuses. And somehow a squirming baby goes into each of these? My prayers and stomach growls both intensify with surprising speed.
Two and a half hours down we move from the hardware section to the diaper section. I’ve changed diapers before so it doesn’t make me cringe as much as the next guy (whoever that really is). The thought of them being in my house though is a whole different story. It’s similar to the realization that your girlfriend started keeping a box of tampons under your sink in case she ever needs one when she’s over. They never ask if they can put them there. You’re just going for a new roll of toilet paper one morning and you get a wakeup call no alarm clock could ever give you. It’s a fact of life, I’m just not prepared to have it in my world on a consistent basis yet. I guess I’ve gotten used to tampons in the house so this won’t be much different I guess. I was told I was allergic to pampers (diapers, not tampons), so huggies it is. I went rapid fire on the scan gun on these massive bags of diapers. I know it’s a fact, but the idea a baby poops that much is staggering to me.
The center of the back of the store is an entire collection of all forms of rocking chairs. I took this opportunity to rest my weary feet for a moment. Every other section took quite a while so I knew I could relax and sit a spell. Wouldn’t you know, Carian had already scoped out the offerings and knew exactly what she wanted. Don’t get me wrong, after three hours I’m thrilled we can motor through a section, but does it have to be the one that allows me to sit for the duration? At this point my stomach has notched up to a dull roar, and I start eyeing up a bit of ottoman stuffing that has begun ejecting itself from its proper place after dozens, nay, hundreds of patrons have tried this particular model on for size.
Moving on, we encountered the cribs. Again, Carian, to her high credit, has already selected a crib (which is actually pretty cool and would make me slightly jealous had the two of us not decided to buy the biggest bed they sold in the furniture store when we got married) so we moved right on to bedding. Carian and her mom found a pattern they liked and I felt like we could almost see the light at the end of the tunnel. As we progressed towards the next section of the store, they saw another pattern they liked just as much. I ran off and fetched a sample of the first pattern and brought it over for a comparison. After looking at it and talking colors and matching and things I have no business contributing too, they just asked me to make the decision for them. Say what? This is the focus of the baby’s entire room and brings everything together to a perfect crescendo and you want me to pick it? What in the history of our relationship gives me the credentials to make this call? Needless to say, I picked the one that I had already scanned. Not just to avoid rescanning (because scanning was bringing me great joy and I would take any opportunity to get a fix) but I just liked the first pattern better. That’s right, I had an opinion on the matter. So that’s what she gets. Daddy’s pick. The first and last time I can say that.
We entered the final section of the store which entailed blankets, and sheets, and pads, and other forms of soft fuzz that I will have to figure out its purpose in life at another time. At this point my stomach is making noise and vibrations that are registering on the local Richter scale and the other store visitors were looking for bathtubs and doorways to take cover in should the big one hit.
Three and a half hours after the word “go” I returned the gun for the final download. I was weary, I was hungry, but I was feeling accomplished. Now it’s up to you. Go forth and buy things for little Naomi. How could you possibly say no to her?
