Digital Epidural, Volume 14

By Michelle Boudreau at 12:10 PM| Permalink | Comments (1)

I posted a couple weeks ago that shopping is no longer as fun as it used to be. This statement is still true when it comes to shopping at my favorite non-pregnant stores. Last week, though, I experienced maternity clothes shopping for the first time.

I had held off on this endeavor because I didn't want to spend a lot of money on clothes that I won't be wearing very long. However, after a never-ending struggle with the Bella Band, I decided it was time to make a trip to the mall. For those not in the know -- the Bella Band is a strip of material that fits snuggly from below your chest to your hip bones that holds pants up and smooths them out without them needing to be buttoned and/or zipped.

Here's my problem with the Bella Band -- my baby is lying as low as it possibly can right now. So my lovely baby bump is low enough that even my lowest pants don't button let alone zip. The Bella Band claims to solve this, but unfortunately for me, I end up with pants that look like they don't fit right. Couple that with anxiety that the bottom part of my zipper is going to unravel unexpectedly at work. That's not really the kind of exposure I'm looking to add to my life experience.

So, with much reluctance, I drug myself to Destination Maternity to locate some maternity pants. Destination Maternity includes three different maternity shops rolled into one:

(1) Pea in the Pod: for people who enjoy spending too much money on their clothes

(2) Mimi Maternity: for people who don't enjoy over-spending on clothes, but are still willing to do it

(3) Motherhood: for smart people who realize they're only going to be wearing these clothes for a brief period of time

I have a confession to make; I fall squarely in the Pea in the Pod category.

Hi, my name is Michelle and I am a clothes snob. I've tried not to be. I go to Ross and Target and attempt to outfit myself there, but it just doesn't work out. I get overwhelmed by the number of racks, the number of items on each rack and the number of people at each rack.

After much frustration, I give up and head to Anthropologie or Nordstrom. It is in these places where I enter into a peaceful state-of-mind the moment I step through the door. $85 for a t-shirt? No problem. I'm paying partly for the experience right? I tell myself these things.

Granted I'm not exactly a Neiman Marcus type clothes snob, even I draw the line somewhere. That line, though, is faint and in continuous movement.

So back to my story.

I picked out some lovely maternity pants. They were great, yet so lonely. They needed shirts to accompany them, at least in the fitting room. I mean . . . the one I was wearing would simply not suffice. So I ended up in the dressing room accompanied by about 2,348 items - give or take a few dozen.

I must admit: trying on the maternity clothes was pretty fun. My hump is still small enough that it falls into the "cute" and not the "oh my God, give her room she could blow at any moment" category.

I eagerly came home with my carload of purchases prepared to put on a mini-fashion show for Stephen. Lights, cameras, the catwalk... it was going to be great.

His response? "I thought you were just going to buy pants."

Oops, my bad. They were having a great sale . . . weren't they?

Armed with my new ensemble of maternity clothes, I told Stephen all I still "needed" was a pair of maternity jeans. He rolled his eyes at that one, but agreed to go to the mall with me the following Saturday night. While I didn't find any maternity jeans, I somehow did manage to find a few more dresses and tops to add to my maternity collection from Japanese Weekend.

Oops, my bad.

So, the moral of the story?

Maternity clothes shopping can be kind of fun. But in my case, as with all shopping, it should always be done with adult supervision.

Digital Epidural, Volume 13

By Michelle Boudreau at 11:58 AM| Permalink | Comments (5)

A couple weekends ago, Stephen and I took part in an activity that we haven't experienced since being engaged: registering for gifts. Point and shoot a laser-guided beam at stuff other people will (hopefully) get for you. I had almost forgotten what a brilliant concept this was!

We both went into the experience with a mix of confusion and trepidation. Registering for marriage was pretty straightforward. We never really questioned whether we really needed both knives and forks in our new home. Neither of us was raised by wolves (although I do recall my parents accusing me of believing the house was a barn): we were both acutely aware of the dish/silverware/towel/sheet requirement to make a home operate efficiently.

But, when it comes to a baby . . . when it comes to fostering a healthy environment for a new life . . . well, all I know is that they need to be fed and changed. That's about it. I am assuming there's just a little more to it than an endless cycle of feeding and pooping.

A few resume items that should help set the table of my experience in your mind.

I worked in the church nursery once a week my senior year of college. (diaper changing, some really sweet kids, some super-explosive, diabolical, devil-children too)

Also, I have friends with children. (witnessing the beauty and terror of parenthood in action)

AND I have on more than one occasion watched Super Nanny. (I've been working on my British accent. Should solve just about anything unexpected that may come up during parenthood.)

Unfortunately, none of this has shed overwhelming light on what items belong on a baby registry. Couple this with my groundless fear of Babies R' Us and it all adds up to a recipe for confusion.

Before registering, I had stepped foot in a Babies R'Us once in my life. It was Christmas time. 2007. There was a chill in the air and a chill in my bones. Screaming, yelling, running children. Chaos. (I had a similar experience at a Wal-Mart in '06 . . . not pretty) Aren't these little people ever simply quiet? (That's a semi-rhetorical question all you know-it-alls. I'm going for dramatic effect here!)

So, Stephen and I reluctantly boarded the car on a Friday night and headed out to Babies R' Us. A couple hours of car seat and stroller research and a detailed email from my beautiful friend (and new mom) Rosa were all the preparations I had engaged. Should be enough, right? I mean . . . how many options could there possibly be?

The answer to that question was preposterously gi-normous. But before you are given access to the registry-gun, Babies R' Us requires nothing short of a full-cavity search and naming rights to your third child. After an eternity in which our registry assistant: went through a 700 page manual with us, questioned why we weren't finding out the sex, and a few dozen sheets of paperwork -- she finally relinquished the gun and let us on the zapping prowl.

Babies R' Us is conveniently laid out in a fairly simple pattern. All the feeding stuff is in one location, all the strollers in another, all the bedding in another and so on. Included in our paperwork is a handy checklist of everything you and your new baby will need as you begin your life together. I believe it was titled, "Everything in Our Store". Who knew that our little bundle of joy would need 15 strollers and 74 car seats (per car)?

So we took a deep breath and began.

First up was feeding equipment. Now, I've seen bottles and I've even fed a baby with a bottle, but I had no clue there were so many brands and variations of bottles. I was impressed how each touted it would be better at not killing my baby than any other. In case you didn't know, plastic bottles (those like the one you may be sipping a Coke or some refreshing water out of right now) are toxic. Seriously, I keep checking my pulse to make sure I'm still alive. My mom apparently doomed me to a life of cancer and/or spontaneous combustion because of her plastic bottles. Thanks Mom, real nice.

If you love your baby, you will buy glass bottles. But, if your name is Michelle Boudreau and you are incapable of not dropping things on a regular basis, you will throw caution to the wind and register for plastic bottles. Sorry baby.

Before you run to the phone and dial up CPS . . . I picked a premium brand of plastic bottles that are cancer, STD and anthrax free. Crisis averted.

Did you know that they don't sell bottles and nipples together? What's up with that? I guess it makes sense, though. I like having the option of simply pouring formula directly over the face of my newborn and hope they can lick up what they need. Thank you bottle makers.

After sorting through the myriad of options, we finally settled on a lovely and inviting nipple. So, 45 minutes in and we have bottles and nipples.

Up next were pacifiers. Those of you who know him will no doubt anticipate that if the nipples didn't kill him, surely the pacifiers would overwhelm Stephen and his pseudo-phobia of small plastic things covered in saliva. These types of items are not in his realm of "things he willingly touches". After we registered for the bottle sanitizer, he asked me why they didn't have one for the pacifiers."Seriously, if ANYTHING needs sanitizing it's these little mouth corks," he said with fear in his eyes.

I used to think it was one of his little jokes, but I really think I detected a dry heave when he saw the pacifiers.

I don't know if you are supposed to register for bibs, but we did and it was spectacular.

Next up: the first aid area. Things got a little sketchy in the land of first aid. Standing before us was the humidifier. Do we need that? It's on the list so it must be a necessity right? Right? I have no idea how useful or necessary a humidifier will be, but we registered for one. I leave the purchasing decision in your hands.

Next up was a small plastic item that you stick your little finger into to brush your child's gums before they are able to use a regular toothbrush and toothpaste. We had to take the defibrillator to get Stephen back. It was a close call.

Either way, we opted not to get the saliva collecting, gum-brushing finger tool. Stephen told me that he would never use it so it would be up to me entirely to brave the nastiness that would accompany using it. My motto: no teeth, no need to brush . . . right?

As we progressed through the aisles: car seat, check; stroller, check; swing, check.

On this night, we truly begun to realize just how many baby gizmos and gadgets are available to spend other people's money on. Did you know that you can have a swing AND a travel swing AND a baby bouncer (that also travels). Of course you did.

We finally made it to the end of the store. The whole experience from start to finish took about two-and-a-half hours . . . much longer than my pathetically short attention span.

By the end, I began losing my ability to think clearly. So if you see my list and think how in the world could she have not registered for this or that -- chalk it up to battle fatigue. That item must have been at the end of the emotional labyrinth they call Babies R' Us.

Weary from our journey and ready to never see a baby bottle again (well at least not for a few more months) we left the magical kingdom and spent some time in grown up world enjoying some tasty Greek food.

Now all that's left is to find somewhere to put all this stuff.