Snugabunny

I was bad at planning a wedding. I was bad at caring about colors (I told the bridesmaids to buy a dress they liked), I was bad at caring about flowers (I ordered them two weeks before the wedding and my only request was please God don’t make it look like a funeral no, really, let me explain…), I was bad at caring about details and flipping out about things going correctly (My aunt dropped off a box of decorations at the restaurant that morning, the priest didn’t tell us where to stand during Mass, and the DJ literally got our first dance song wrong). I just didn’t care. As long as we were legally married and no one fainted or ran screaming from the church, I considered the evening a rousing success.

Registering proved to be similarly difficult. It was one of those wedding things I just could not care about. I loved that people cared enough to give us gifts, but I seriously did not want to pick them out. And, well, let’s just say it was a rather fraught few days between Buzz and I. We do not have similar tastes. Or perceived needs. Or…anything really. It’s amazing that we’ve been so happy together.

I figured that registering for baby stuff would be equally as difficult. And I wasn’t thrilled out the prospect of celebrating the impending (eleven weeks holy God) arrival of our bundle of joy with fights and screaming and that one time I yelled pretty awful things at Buzz at Target.

But I was wrong! Registering for a baby is awesome! First of all, it’s really like comparing apples and oranges. We didn’t really register like you register for a wedding when you pick out EVERYTHING. We kind of just listed the kind of car seat we want and what crib, what wrap/carriers, etc. Just in case people wanted ideas or wanted to know what we’d end up buying if they didn’t. Way easier than selecting the hand towels you want to use forever and ever, amen.

Also, my husband loves to research stuff. Like, if Consumer Reports has a category for it, we are not allowed to buy it without careful research. This process bugged me when we were selecting (or rather, ending up NEVER SELECTING) a vacuum cleaner. It sucks up dirt. If it doesn’t work, we’ll get a new one in ten years like everyone else on the planet. This process does not bug me so much when we’re selecting the thing that will be cocooning my infant and Squeaks’ little brother as we hurdle down the highway at 65 mph.

(Also yes, I drive like an old lady.)

Finally, all little boy stuff kind of looks the same. I mean, you get to pick between geometric shapes, owls, or monkeys. That’s nothing compared to the relationship minefield that was silverware for us. (The pointed ends are apparently not useful and therefore should be banned except for the highest of holy days. Or, no, they’re pretty and I like them.) And, you know, I kind of have the trump card here with the pushing your huge familial head out of a rather tiny hole (Have you SEEN 10 cm? Because it’s not huge.), and therefore if I want owls, I get owls.

So, in general, the registering went well. There was lots of cooing and oh how cute! And oh my gosh, can you believe we’re having another one!?

Buzz’s maddeningly practical side was not completely gone, however. We selected the My Little Snugabunny bouncer. Which has little bunny ears above the little cocoon part. And it’s so adorable that if it was physically possible for me to ovulate right now, the My Little Snugabunny would have made me do so.

Snugabunny

See?

My husband was less enamored.

Buzz: “I was going to say that you know there’s no real reason for the bunny ears, right? But I’m sure you know that.”

Me: “No. Really? You mean they don’t serve any evolutionary purpose? You know I have a master’s degree, right? THEY’RE LITTLE BUNNY EARS. THEY’RE SO CUTE.”

Buzz: “Okay. But they’re pointless and add $20 to the price. It’s the most expensive bouncer we found.”

Me: “No one has to buy it for us. If we don’t get it and we have to buy a bouncer, we’ll just get a cheap basic one from Target.”

*pause*

Me: “No, actually, what will happen if we don’t get it is I’ll call my mom and tell her we didn’t get the my little snugabunny and you won’t let me buy it and it’ll be at our house the next day. No, she’ll probably find it in a store somewhere and bring it over before dinner.”

Buzz: “Oh. Of course.”

See? He’s learned so much from last year.

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