Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Babies 'R' Us=Babies Aren't Me

I went to go pick out a few gifts for a coworker for a surprise baby shower we threw for her at work. As soon as I entered this mega store filled with diapers, I knew I was going to need some sort of narcotic afterward to calm my nerves. I walked over to the gift registry with my eyes already glazed, and was greeted by a perky sales associate named Becky with a daisy tattoo on her forearm. I asked her to print out the list for my coworker, and off I went into the wilderness of noise machines, strollers and binkies.

As I wondered aimlessly amidst aisles of smiley baby boxes, I noticed that each row had a few expectant mothers rubbing their bellies while perusing cribs and blankets; I saw one woman look down at my stomach and I could see her trying to calculate how far along I was. I looked at her and then down at my stomach, I shook my head and literally began jogging out of that terrible aisle. I mean, my stomach has always been my source of pure insecurity, and I enter a place that assumes my huge gut has a kid in it. Fucking awesome. The next row I stumbled into had a single human in it: a dude holding a breast pump like it was a remote control for a massage chair at Brookstone.

 I was on the verge of giving up when Britney (god bless her soul) sought me out and said in a sweet tone: you look like someone that could use some help.  I almost hugged her. I shoved the gift registry list at her and I told her to pick three things out on this list. Britney looked at me with a shocked expression and questioned me about the mom to be: what kind of mother does she want to be? does she have sensitive skin? Britney: I don’t give a shit. Pick three items for me and let’s call it a day. So the three items were a mommy and me lotion set, a stuffed lamb animal that calms babies down with whale noises (what the fuck?) and finally: a diaper genie. As Britney and I were making our way to the register, I was just explaining to her that I’m in baby and wedding season with all of my friends. Oh, I know, I know! She said. I’m trying to tell one of my friends not to be so baby crazy, and marry her boyfriend before she has a baby, but you know that clock of ours ticks when it wants to! Nervous giggle from me before I ask: umm, Britney, how old are you? Oh me? I’m 22! I almost fainted. I don’t even know what happened after that, I think I blacked out. I paid and was actually relieved to walk (rather run) to my car in the pouring rain and escape the land of pregnant zombies and 22 year old ticking clocks. Mark my words: I will never ever go into a Babies R Us ever again.

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