Envy, In General UPDATE

My blogger friend wrote a book that is now out in stores. It’s called “Sippy Cups Are Not For Chardonnay” and you can get it on Amazon, too. She’ll be on the today show next Thursday. It is Hollywood, people. My friends are famous.

My latest column for the Mommy Times is up on the site but there’s something weird about some of the links which makes a few of the words NOT show up which makes reading it seem like I had Tourette’s when I wrote it. So. I’m putting it here for you now.

Nuts On the Side
March 19, 2006

Stroller Envy

There is a very special time in a woman’s pregnancy in which she is allowed to indulge her fantasies to the fullest, basking in the glory of expectation, surrounded by love and admiration. It’s called a baby shower. Much like a bridal shower, but focused on the needs of the baby instead of the house, the baby shower gives a mother-to-be a fantastic excuse to go shopping. You might think that this is a time of great joy. For me, it was panic.

Before my shower loomed in the near future, I had never really paid attention to the baby section at Target or to stores like Babies R Us. Sure, I had shopped for gifts for other people’s babies, but those were tactical missions to go in, get a gift, and go. It’s easy to find something cute that is pink or blue (or yellow, for the not-yet-gender-specific baby) and slap down your credit card. I found out the hard way that it’s not so easy to choose when the things are crucial items that would help me care for my baby.

One fine Saturday during my seventh month of pregnancy I dragged my husband to our local Babies R Us, having prepped him far in advance of the trip. He is not a fan of shopping and detests crowds in general, so I was sure he’d spin on his heel and run out of the store in a blind panic. But I needed him to help me choose a car seat, which seemed like Thing #1 on our list – after all, you can’t take the baby out of the hospital without one (assuming we passed the New Parent test and they let us take him home). So I prepped Stewart far in advance, reminding him gently every few days that our shopping trip was coming up, and that we weren’t going to stay long, we were only going for one item, and it would be okay.

Once we got to the store, however, it was clear that the person we should be worrying about was me. I took one look at the enormous Wall of Car Seats and started to shake in my pregnancy clogs. There were so many choices! It reminded me of the last scene in “Raiders of the Lost Ark” when the ark was being filed away in a government warehouse amid endless rows of other anonymous crates. Not only did we have to choose the seat that was best for our car, but we also had to pick the right style. This was much more important to me than to Stewart, who basically pointed to one and said “Okay, let’s go” after about thirty seconds. Needless to say, that approach didn’t work.

Upon the advice of friends, I had read “Baby Bargains” and “Consumer Reports” and one very detail-oriented friend even emailed me the comparison spreadsheet she had created when she was pregnant. I had my opinions of a few models of carseats but had never actually looked at them. Having them all lined up in front of me in all of their variation and travel system compatibility made me swoon with indecision. What if I chose one that was unsafe? Did I want to make it more affordable and get the travel system? Would anybody purchase these things off my registry? Is it okay to get a girly-looking pattern if you’re having a boy?

In the end, if you must know, we chose the Windsor pattern of the Graco Snugride: the detachable infant carrier with a base and the matching stroller. I was pretty proud of myself for making a decision. I left the rest of the registry for another trip to the store, during which I enlisted the help of a friend who was pregnant with her second baby. She did a good job of guiding me through the aisles, pointing out things I would definitely need (Boppy pillow) and things I shouldn’t worry about (bathtub) and helped me navigate the murky sea of nipples and pacifiers. Even with this invaluable guidance I was struck with register’s remorse, second guessing myself daily and visiting the website every 10 minutes to make sure I had pointed out everything I thought I needed.

We installed the infant carrier in my car a few weeks before Kyle’s birth, and I proudly drove around with it looking at me in the rearview mirror, smiling as if to say “I’m ready! Put a baby in me!” When he was born, I happily toted him around town in it, and I loved to attach the seat to the pretty matching stroller and hear that satisfying click when the lock engaged. I loved the cup holders and the temperature sensor (because you need that) and the storage basket and the way the wheels glided as I walked. I smugly tooled around with Kyle and the stroller like I was driving a new car.

Until I went to Beverly Hills.

I took the whole contraption, baby and all, to a beautiful outdoor mall to have lunch with a friend. After our meal, we walked around the mall and I started to notice the other people with strollers and babies. Actually, I always notice other people with strollers and babies. Were there always this many? Before I had Kyle I never saw them – it’s like they were invisible, and now that I have a baby I have special X-ray vision that allows me to see the hidden world that is right before our very eyes. The stroller people. And guess what – in Beverly Hills they all have a Bugaboo.

The first time I ever saw a Bugaboo was at this very same mall, only weeks after Kyle was born. I watched as a family unloaded a crazy looking space age contraption from the car at the valet dropoff. I elbowed Stewart – he didn’t remember ever seeing that style either. Oh yeah, because Babies R Us doesn’t carry that one! When I discovered that the Bugaboo costs as much as all of the furniture in Kyle’s room, combined, I pooh-poohed the idea, content in my knowledge that no baby needs such an expensive non-necessity. I patted my Graco. There, there.

But months later, strolling with my friend and seeing all these Bugaboo babies, and not even one other Graco, I started to doubt myself. Oh sure, I did see a few Peg Péregos and a MacLaren or two, but those aren’t as intimidating as the big B with its giant wheels and bright colors and carbon fiber frames. I tried to explain my growing unease to my friend, but she hasn’t been initiated into the secret society yet – she couldn’t even see the Bugaboos.

Since that day I’ve become an expert at spotting extravagantly expensive strollers and pointing them out to people. In my feigned indifference to the Bugaboo, I am like a driver of a Honda Civic, turning my nose up at those who drive a Cadillac Escalade and waste too much gas. But in reality I am the one driving the clunky SUV of a stroller while the Bugaboo crowd glides by in their sleek baby Porsches.

I finally experienced a close encounter with a Bugaboo when one of the moms in my mommy group broke down and purchased one for her daughter. She joined us on an outing one day, rolling up with her sleek red vehicle, facing our looks and moans of dismay with an apology: her daughter can’t sleep in anything else and this one was so comfortable. I asked her if I could touch it. I rolled it back and forth. It was so smooth. Yes, like butter. I stopped short of putting Kyle in it, you know, just to see how it would feel. Because then I know I would be hooked, and I would be buying Target brand diapers for the next year to justify my splurge.

It’s a blessing that I didn’t know about the echelons of stroller cache when I was registering for my baby shower. At that time I saw no need to keep up with the Joneses when it came to baby gear, and by the time Kyle came along, the deed was done, and I was locked into what I had. I am happy to say that I survived the Temptation of the Fancy Stroller and we are safe now, the Graco and I, together in our ensemble of baby, stroller, and mama. A bit less bulky now, because Kyle grew too big for the infant carrier long ago. When we pass a beautiful Bugaboo, we turn and admire it, but we covet no longer. After all, a baby doesn’t need extravagant things. All he needs is love, clean diapers, and food. And a mama who has enough chocolate.

Note: Mama has NO chocolate. There is NO CHOCOLATE IN MY HOUSE. And my baby and husband have both been sick all week so I’ve pretty much been sticking around the house which is driving me crazy.

UPDATE: In fact, there was chocolate in the house – I just had to look really hard. I found an old bag of store-brand chocolate chips and ate four handfuls while watching “The Daily Show” and “The Colbert Report.” Semi-sweet goodness. Mmm. And today, there was a No-Pudge Fudge brownie burning a chocolate hole in a pantry shelf…I had been saving it for Stew since he is sick, but he passed it up for dessert after THREE meals so he loses. Big.