The boxes started arriving three months before the "Big Day," turning the guest room into a cardboard labyrinth. Sarah and Mark sat on the floor, armed with a highlighter and a list they’d found online that was forty-seven items deep.
Next came the . They had spent four Saturdays test-driving them like they were buying a luxury SUV. They settled on one with "all-terrain suspension," even though their primary terrain was a flat sidewalk leading to a coffee shop. baby stuff list to buy
Six different brands, because apparently, some babies prefer to be wrapped like a burrito, while others demand the "arms-up" approach. The boxes started arriving three months before the
"Do we really need a wipe warmer?" Mark asked, holding up a sleek plastic box that promised to keep moist towelettes at a balmy ninety-eight degrees. They had spent four Saturdays test-driving them like
"You want me to do what with my mouth?" Mark gasped, looking at the nasal aspirator.
"What?" she whispered, terrified they’d missed a crucial piece of plastic.