After three and a half months of reading, researching, ranking and hand-wringing, last night we started registering for baby crap. I imagined that this would make a colonoscopy seem like a weekend in Boca Raton. I was not let down.

The concept of making a list of junk for other people to buy you still seems stupid creepy to me, having never gotten over the original process when we got married. I suppose that’s why I feel ill-at-ease making mandatory Christmas lists for The Mother-in-Law™ too.

The good part is that we’re finally moving forward, and that The Wife™ has found a public place where she can relax and feel comfortable knowing that people aren’t wondering if she just ate too many pork rinds. The people in this store can smell pregnancy. Maybe because babies smell like pork rinds? Gross. I hope not.

And even though we were only able to say that (in over two hours) we had knocked off 49 items (out of ~15,293, give or take), it’s much better than staring at a completely full list. Perhaps that will assuage my concern over this whole “registering” phenomenon.

Now we just have to settle the debate of “Newborn: Can a sock drawer REALLY replace a bassinet?” I can imagine you already know which side of the argument I represent.