Baby Registry Madness, population me.

Posted: June 13, 2012 in Pregnant Wife Stories
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Last night I spent two and a half hours at the local Target.  I was assigned a very specific job from my long haired General, Whitney:  When given the command, I was to pick up objects find the barcode, hold it in a stationary position, and then Whitney would get to use the cool scanner gun and magically make it appear in our Baby Registry. 

Initially, I jumped into this awesomeness with intensity and a genuine longing to be a partner to my wife who is carrying my baby…..  I was making crane sounds when I would pick up heavy objects, speak in a robot voice, “Your object is ready for scanning, scanning initiated, scanning complete, please choose another object for scanning.”  I picked up heavy objects just to turn my wife on.  I was like “Whitney does this stroller make me look sexy?”  She would always reply in the affirmative.  I pretended that I was changing a baby once in a beautifully executed pantomimed performance, which other shoppers appreciated.  I held baby hairbrushes in my hand and pretended I was a giant super villain here to destroy puny humans.  I held up baby boy shirts and asked Whitney if the shirt made me look fat or if my biceps looked huge.  I asked Whitney if Nipple Protectors would help keep me from chaffing in the gym during hard workouts and contemplated buying them and conducting research of my own.  I pretended I was lactating and needed to pump my breasts….okay, I didn’t do this.  It was so awesome…for five minutes. 

Whitney was a machine of efficiency, and then there was me.  After ten minutes, I had flashbacks to me as a 10 year old being dragged through the store by my mother, who tried on everything, and took her sweet time as my punishment for making fun of the kid who pulled his pants all the way down to his ankles when he used the urinal to pee at school.   (Now after being separated from this instance by many years, I would still make fun of a kid who pulled his pants all the way down to pee when using a urinal).  Anyway, I was a nagging little bitch about the entire process.  I think it started snowballing when I realized that my baby’s room and wardrobe is going to be a gigantic mixture of shades of pink.  Everything is pink.  Things that I didn’t even know existed, we put on the registry, and they were in some way, shape, or form—pink.  The only thing I couldn’t find, which I wanted more than anything, was a pair of baby diaper covers or shorts that said S E X Y across the ass.  I want to get my daughter set up for her teenage years as early as possible.  I am hoping for a professional dancer by 18.  I think if I can get her on stage early, she won’t have the nervous issues I had before I joined my amateur All Male Review dance squad. 

Whitney was trucking through articles of clothing and scanning with military precision.  I was so jealous that she got to use the scanner the entire time.  After awhile, I felt like she was having all of the fun and that I was really only there to look pretty.  She asked me things in an effort to include me in the process like, “should I get the double breast pump?”  I thought the machine was intriguing and its packaging had a picture of a near naked lady attached to the machine, so I said, “Yes, that is the one you need, the single pump won’t be sufficient.”  I will probably never throw the package away.

She asked me if I preferred a pink butterfly mobile over a red ladybug mobile.  I told her to go with the ladybug, so she grabbed the butterfly.  I told her my legs were tired and she reminded me that her legs were just below the unborn daughter she was carrying and that I should shut my mouth when I talk to her.  I was impressed by the look of dedication to mission accomplishment on my wife’s face.  She is a monster.  She cannot be stopped. 

We made up this cool game called, “Heath, Pick Out a Cool Pack and Play.”  The game is fun.  It sounds as if I get to pick out my favorite Pack and Play.  The rules are a bit different than I thought they would be.  After hearing them and playing for a second, I thought the game could be more aptly named, “Guess Which Pack and Play Whitney Wants on Her Baby Registry.”  

It was a good time.  After we were done, I thanked Whitney for the help getting the registry completed and that I was very grateful for her contribution.  Again, there is no one else I would rather walk through a store with even if we are shopping for all things pink. 

This is only the beginning.  I just wanted you know, because I have been holding it since nine o’clock last night.      

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Comments
  1. Best advice I can give you. You will save a lot of money if you make sure the big-ticket items are a little more gender-neutral. Because if you ever have a boy, you’re not going to want to put him in a pink car seat or a pink stroller (nor are you going to want to spend 300 dollars replacing stuff that’s still perfectly good). Oh, and there’s a lot of crap they recommend that you don’t need.

    Those guns are pretty awesome though, and the double breast pump is way more efficient.

  2. Lisa says:

    I read this to my entire family and we were all cracking up at this one. This whole post was very entertaining, though my favorite part was about the Pack N Play. I can relate very well to Whitney here, and they way you word your story is priceless! Thanks for the laugh. 🙂

  3. Baz says:

    I don’t even know what you had to go thru, nor do I know what a “pack and play” is – though it sounds rough and I’d stay away if I were you – I admire your courage in the face of such a daunting mission, and laud you for YOUR determination sir.
    Also, probably one of the funniest things I’ve ever read…. Heath writes: “I told her my legs were tired and she reminded me that her legs were just below the unborn daughter she was carrying and that I should shut my mouth when I talk to her. I was impressed by the look of dedication to mission accomplishment on my wife’s face.”
    I just… want you to know… you’re alone in this, but you have friends. Wear the small shirts, and flex those ginormous biceps… be proud of all that pink, somehow.

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