Shopper’s identity withheld if only to spare her child from
the humiliation of one day learning that her mother had
drooled over something called the Bunnies By the Bay Lulla Bunny Bye Binkie.
Since learning I was pregnant, I had studiously avoided baby boutiques. No good can come of those places, I reasoned. They are chock full of wee pieces of merchandise that carry disproportionately hefty price tags. The longer I postponed crossing the threshold of shops with names like Giggles & Cupcakes and Bella von Poshingtot the less money I spent before the child even arrived. But with the sundial that my belly has become indicating that it was time to get organized and begin pulling together a nursery, I headed out this past weekend to peruse furniture.
In a boutique in Savage Mill, MD, I met the enemy and she is me.
At every tableau of tiny goods I found myself sighing and thinking, “Maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe we do need to get the carrot-embroidered plush rattle “Munch Box.” I’d swear they were pumping a mixture of weapons-grade baby powder and opium through the vents. Ever the trooper, I shook off the fog and focused on the day’s mission: find an antique dresser that could double as a changing table and storage. (What I specifically did not want was a piece of baby furniture, because items manufactured solely as baby furniture are as crappy as the substance we will soon be Clorox cleaning off them.)
And there it was:
An antique dresser that had been updated helpfully with the stripping of decades of paint and covered with a smooth coat of deliciously lead-free ebony paint, then distressed for effect and finished off with twinkling crystal knobs. And yes, the pink knobs will be subbed out for green crystal ones if we learn next week that the little one is a little he…what with decorative furniture knobs being the gender-identity crisis harbingers that they are.
After I shrewdly negotiated the proprieters down a cool 15 clams on the price and got them to agree to switch the knobs for free if needed (fear me, Wall Street titans), the first piece of nursery furniture was ours. Only 438 other “essential” items to go.