Babies Are We
By Summer Block

I am pregnant. Being pregnant is very funny yet hard to write about comedically. Like trying on bathing suits or putting down the family dog, pregnancy is one of those experiences so elemental and so universal it's almost impossible to speak about it except in clichés. In fact, it's the kind of experience that reminds you of why clichés are a very useful way of encapsulating little shorthand nuggets of socially agreed-upon information. Like how having a baby changes your life forever, or how lovely it is to feel his first kicks, or how it's hilarious when pregnant women get stuck in chairs.

The social aspects of pregnancy are all the more obvious to me because five of my friends are also pregnant, with due dates stretching throughout the coming summer and fall. Because of this, I've had the opportunity to go to a number of baby showers and shop from a number of baby gift registries, all hosted by Babies R Us, a sort of baby supply clearing house that operates a near-monopoly on perennial shower stand-bys like receiving blankets and Diaper Genies.

Like pregnancy, the baby gift registry is itself a social performance and a chance to announce in advance what kind of parent you plan to be. Consider, then, the implications of the following common wish list items.

The Shopping Cart Cover: These are large, pillowy fabric covers used to line the shopping cart child seat before placing your toddler inside. Presumably this is to counteract the germs some mothers believe reside in shopping carts (and shopping carts alone, unless they are also buying similar fitted covers for other types of public seating). You may laugh, but these covers are among the most popular registry items, listed as "top registry choices" on the babiesrus.com alongside the Summer Infant Soothing Spa and Shower and the Baby Einstein Stationary Entertainer.

But before registering, consider: What kind of grocery stores am I frequenting? What do I expect to find in those seats? Here's a tip that will save you $30: Before placing your infant in the shopping cart seat, stop and check: is the seat covered in blood and bile? If so, consider another cart, or even another store. Otherwise, you're probably good to go.

The shopping cart cover is but one symptom of the "Nothing Is Safe" School of Infant Management. And it's not alone. If you have registered for multiple redundant baby monitors, more than one package of outlet covers, or an ionic air purifier, you might want to step back think, just how dangerous is my home? After all, you live there, and you've made it so far. Are you strip-mining coal in the backyard? Is the nursery adjacent to an empty elevator shaft?

Yes, you could buy special pacifier-washing bottles (to replace the classic method of wiping a dropped pacifier off on your shirt hem) and even plastic disposal placemats to set atop restaurant tables. Lesson? The world is dangerous and dirty, and germ avoidance is worth any amount of social ostracization. If you go down this road I'd go ahead and register for an analyst's coach cover right now, too-don't worry, he'll grow into it.

The Wipe Warmer: These are small appliances that gently ease your disposable baby wipes up to a balmy 70-something degrees before you apply them to your infant's precious hindquarters.

Before registering, a quick reminder: Your baby is not the Prince of Siam. He does not need a special warmer to make sure his buttocks stay maximally comfortable. Wipe warmers are the modern-day equivalent of hiring Egyptian slave girls to stand around fanning the infant with giant palm frond fans. Life's tough, baby, and wipes are cold.

Should you decide you want to lead your infant down this primrose path, you may consider also registering for a separate travel wipe warmer, lest your child, now thoroughly accustomed to a life of leisure, experience a nasty dermatological shock when forced to slum it on a family vacation.

Anything Made By Fisher-Price: This is the registry equivalent of saying, "Well, I give up." No more Sunday morning crossword puzzles, Eames loungers, or balloon goblets. From now on I plan on living in a Gymboree.

The Fisher-Price design team operates from the assumption that a sleep-deprived new parent has better things to worry about than whether or not their baby bouncer matches their ottoman and they're probably right. So now, in these halcyon days before the baby comes, ask yourself: Would I cover my own sofa in a pattern of brightly colored cartoon fish? No? Then why would I buy a small chair to place in my living room covered in the same?

Remember, car seats, bouncers, swings, and crib sheets are for you, not the baby. The baby's eyes only focus about ten inches in front of his face, and he couldn't identify a cartoon fish to save his life. As long as his buttocks are warm and toasty, he'll be happy enough.

The Velboa Snuzzler: Of course I registered for this. It's called the Velboa Snuzzler. In the words of my sister, it's like the name of a sexy female Bond villain. I have a Velboa Snuzzler in my nursery closet right now and I'm still not sure what it's for. Who cares? It's only $20. Buy two.

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Summer Block is going to be the kind of parent who dresses her baby in gender-neutral onesies decorated with mildly self-depracatory sayings.

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