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.
Then came the "essentials" that felt like a foreign language: baby stuff list to buy
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
"The internet says cold wipes make babies cry like they’ve been touched by an icicle," Sarah replied, checking it off. Then came the "essentials" that felt like a
A stainless steel tower designed to contain scents that could arguably peel paint.
Mark looked at the high-tech wipe warmer, still unplugged in the corner. Then he looked at Sarah. "We forgot the one thing that wasn't on the list."