Registered

Yesterday we registered at Target. This involved running around with a scanner gun and deciding which bouncy seat thingie we want someone to perhaps buy for us. I manned the gun, of course, for it kept me occupied. Julie's role was to prevent me from scanning everything in sight.

It's all so arbitrary, isn't it? Nuks, for example, which I think is how you spell it. How do you know which one to get? So you scan in four or five of them, as if someone is actually going to print off your scan sheet and plod around the store before deciding, "Oh, well I suppose I'll buy them a few nuks. That way, the baby can suck."

I feel it's also a bit presumptuous to register for your baby. We're almost 30, after all. It's not like we're recently out of college and wondering where the next rent payment is going to come from. But Julie insists that there are myriad people who really want to buy us something, so it makes sense to try to ease their shopping experience. And hopefully it'll prevent us from getting crap we don't want.

It was all worth it, though, in the bottle aisle when Julie suddenly exclaimed, "Oh! Nipples!"