Baby Registry

One of the most exciting moments in wedding planning is when you and your future spouse go and register for gifts. There is nothing cooler than going to Macy's, getting that little gun, and going gangbusters on all the stuff you need, want, and would never, ever buy for yourselves. Some people think registries are tacky- a big gift grab telling people what to get you. I do not agree- registries are a practical way for the gift giver to ensure that their gift will be wanted, appreciated and used. I am always a fan of giving gifts from a registry, because if the bride and groom want a toaster, they may want the red Kitchen Aid toaster, not the metal style toaster I would pick out from Target. Also, gift registries put all the guests in sync- even though I don't know your Aunt Myrtle, I can see that she purchased 4 of your chosen wine goblets, and I can supplement that with the remaining 4 wine goblets, and you will have the desired set of 8 wine goblets. Brilliant.

Registering for baby gifts is the antithesis of a wedding registry. There is nothing more stressful, anxiety ridden, and confidence shattering than walking into a Babies R Us and recognizing just how inadequate you are- realizing that you will be a horrible parent because you don't know an infant car seat from a convertible car seat, or that you should get a "cool mist" humidifier, or that you should make sure you can't fit a soda can through the slots on a crib. This is what we went through a few weeks ago when we were stupid and naive enough to walk blind into a Babies R Us. On a Saturday. At 2:00 p.m.

I was excited to go to Babies R Us, waiting to duplicate to pure exhilaration of the wedding registry. This was not to be the case. Instead, we entered an unknown jungle of pregnant woman, reluctant men, infants, and aisles and aisles of items of god-knows-what; but apparently we needed one of each. After several misguided attempts on my part to figure out 1) what we needed and 2) what had the highest safety ratings, Nick assuaged my anxiety by taking the gun away and starting to shoot: he paid no attention to what he was shooting. I pointed, he shot. He shot items that were cool, items that we wanted, and items that we would never, ever buy for ourselves. For a brief moment we had matched the pure high of the wedding registry. For one moment (OK, about 30 minutes) we didn't think about safety ratings, prices or necessity. For
one moment we were free.

We left the Babies R Us, satisfied that we had completed our mission, warm from our victory. We celebrated the day with some drinks (Virgin Pina Colada for me) with friends in Seattle.

The next day I looked at our online registry, and changed every single thing.