Been trying to figure out how to make this post relate to ballet, and there just is no way, so fuck it, I’m just gonna tell it.
Lawd help me Gentle Reader, I went to Babies R Us.
I’d been really hoping to Never Set Foot in that place Evar, but then Mr. Adult Beginner handed me this gift card and was like, “Here, somebody gave me this, go spend it before I forget all about it.”
And, like, ok, it was super nice of whoever gave him the card, I totally appreciate the thought of ‘Hey, you’re having a baby, you might need to get some baby stuff’, totally nice and thoughtful,
I just really hate the fact that these Huge Baby stores even exist.
I mean, I feel like there’s so much pressure of Omg You’re Pregnant Now Immediately Buy Everything OR ELSE and I feel like it totally preys upon our fears that maybe we really are unprepared to be parents unless we buy this thing and this thing and all of these things.
And I don’t like being marketed to that way!
Like, I was reading this book, it was just this fluffy non-fiction beach-read type book, like the kind of thing you throw into your beach bag along with your towel and your Maxim and your SPF 5million, and it was just this silly account of some lady and her pregnancy related shenanigans, and at one point she goes shopping at a Big Box Baby Store called Buy Buy Baby, which I thought was a Completely Hilarious name.
Like, this name was a Searing Criticism of the whole baby supply industry, and I was totally applauding the author for coming up with such a brilliant fake store name, encapsulating the entire Fear and Love driven mania to buy stuff Or Else and how the name was like Not Even Pretending that it wasn’t all about pushing merchandise and then-
I actually walked past a Buy Buy Baby while I was in New York and was like Holy Crap, it is a real store. Wow.
It’s like that moment in pregnant yoga class when I realized that I was not actually going to make any BFF’s in there. That unlike my ballet class, where there’s at least a common interest that brings us all together, the only thing I have in common with my prenatal yoga homies is timing.
That moment happened before yoga one day when one of the girls was organizing a group to go see What To Expect When You’re Expecting in theater, which I had zero interest in, the book or the movie, and she was like, “I mean, we are a target audience, who knew?!!”
And I kept my mouth shut because this girl is nice even though she’s not My People, but my head was exploding with, ‘Are you kidding??!?! Of Course we are a target audience! We’re emotional, and we have a time limit! We’re every advertisers wildest dream!’
So anyway, Babies R Us.
I walked in with my gift card and was immediately hit upside the head with the unconquerable vastness of the store, the glaring brightness, the buzzing fluorescent lights, and the uneasy feeling of Oh gawd look at all this stuff oh gawd I don’t have any of this stuff, oh gawd what am I doing I am totally unprepared must buy must buy buy buy buy buy before its too late buy buy buy’
Then, like, took a deep breath and was like, ‘KIT, Adult Beginner, keep it together, it’s just shopping you can do this’ and started walking through the store.
And, I don’t know if this is the lay out of all Babies R Us’s, or if it was just this one, but they’ve done a brilliant job of putting all the cute clothing in the front so you have to wade through adorable outfits complete with hats to get to the necessities like, I don’t know, diapering and feeding, stuff you actually Must Do with babies.
And by cute clothing I mean two sections of extremely sex specific clothing, the sugar-coma pink ruffled girl world on one side and the aggressively sports themed boys stuff on the other, no neutral area.
It’s princesses, football, or go naked.
And the thing is, I know what sex my baby is, I’m just not telling anyone because I’m a jerk who enjoys annoying my friends and driving my family insane. So I wasn’t about to walk through either section for fear someone I know would suddenly pop out from behind a rack of footie-pajamas and yell Aha! while snapping photos directly to stupid Facebook and then I would be busted, Gentle Reader! Busted!
So I did a kind of perimeter check of the store while becoming more and more convinced that I have no idea what I need, but that I damn well better get something so I don’t have to come back ever, when I came across the extremely tiny Stuff For Mamma section and there, right in the middle, was that ridiculously expensive all natural hypoallergenic French moisturizer I’d been eyeballing but not purchased at C. O. Bigelow in Greenwich Village.
It cost $45.
I have never spent that much on a beauty product in my entire life.
The gift certificate was for $50.
I picked it up.
In my head was flashing a friend, couple months ago, saying, “Dude. This is your last birthday before you are a mom. You had better do something really selfish tonight.” and I had said back, “Something really selfish? What, like, make a person? Who carries half my genetic code? Selfish like that?” and he was like, “No! You know what I mean!”
And also flashing was Mr. Adult Beginner’s Theory Of Gift Certificates, which is: always spend gift certificates on something you wouldn’t buy yourself.
And then I put it back down, thinking, ‘No, not this, not something for me, must get something for the baby’
And then picked it up again and totally spent the gift card on it.