grown-up baby things

I’m not, perhaps, the typical mother-to-be of a bouncing baby girl.  For one thing, I hate pink, and I’m really anti-pastels in general.  They are boring, and they wash me out.  Even as a child I had mixed feelings about the child-entertainment industry–when a girl in my first-grade class invited me to go see The Little Mermaid, I told my mother I couldn’t possibly watch a Disney cartoon.  I don’t know where I got these sentiments, but I blame my parents.  They were somehow able to raise a little 7-year-old iconoclast in an affluent New England town, which I find endlessly impressive.  I hope to accomplish the same with my own daughter.

My husband is as bad as I am.   He is practically allergic to plastic (Legos excluded–he is an engineer, after all), and will do nearly anything to avoid bringing it into our house: refusing to buy vegetables that come in plastic, or bringing his own boxes to our local market to fill with lettuce, for example.

So, when I think about acquiring a whole lot of stuff for this little alien growing inside me, I’m filled with trepidation.  What will happen to my antique farmhouse, my oriental rugs and my husband’s paintings, and my extensive library?   Will it be overrun by baby-crap?

I realize there is no avoiding crap all-together.  My life will change, and soon I may consider scattered Barbies on my living room floor just a natural part of the scenery.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t fight it for as long as possible.   And thus begins my search for Crap that I can live with.

For example:

Whoever said bibs and burp cloths weren’t lovely?  They clearly never saw these:  I love the more muted tones (they match the neutrals of my wardrobe to a tea), but the ‘rainbow’ option is pretty nice, too.  Just keep that pink away from my daughter.

And to carry around these pretties, how about something from timi and leslie?  I can’t decide which one I like the best, but needless to say I won’t be lugging my cloth diapers in some Lily Pulitzer pattern come June.

I know, I know, I’m demanding, and lord knows I won’t be able to spend $80 on burp cloths and still afford my outrageous Kindle habit.  There’s no way I’m giving up books, but maybe I’ll cut back a bit, just to hold my own against the pink and the plastic for as long as possible.  A girl can dream, can’t she?

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