One of the more unexpectedly overwhelming parts of becoming a parent is the task of creating your baby registry. You walk into Babies R Us and are barraged by thousands of products for babies, all of them claiming to be must-haves. Even the lists of “essentials” are designed to sell more stuff.

Recently an expectant friend asked me what items I absolutely could not care for the Burt Squirt without. At the moment the question caught me off guard, but after mulling over it, I’ve come up with my top five must-haves.

Remember, these are my favorite things that work for my baby. Your baby might have entirely different tastes. And if there’s anything I’ve learned in my first six months of motherhood, it’s that babies are like Lolcats: they don’t hesitate to say, “DO NOT WANT!” and it’s impossible to force anything a baby DOES NOT WANT on him.

Which is why Babies R Us sells thousands of items, most of which parents will buy in the hope that at least one of them will make childcare a little easier.

Bag Balm

Developed by farmers to treat chapped cow udders, Bag Balm is not only more effective than Desitin at treating the mother of all diaper rashes, it’s also far more affordable than the more potent creams, such as Bourdeaux’s Butt Paste. I paid $12.99 for Bag Balm at a local pharmacy (though Google tells me you can get it for less) when the Burt Squirt was about three weeks old; five months later we still haven’t used it all–and that’s with a liberal smear up the butt crack every diaper change. (In our house, that’s 6-8 diaper changes a day, 31 days a month, for 5 months…I’ll let you do the math.)

I’ve been told that Bag Balm also works for mommies experiencing discomfort from breastfeeding. Though I don’t think I’d recommend treating lady parts from the same jar used on baby bottoms (however cute they may be)!

Also, if you do put it to your own use, you might want to forget it was developed by farmers to treat chapped cow udders…

bébéPOD

The Burt Squirt has nearly outgrown his bébéPOD–a source of much sorrow in our household, as the bébéPOD allows Mr. Burt and me to eat dinner without having to hold a baby who wants to be sitting up and a part of the action like a big boy. It may seem like one of those superfluous purchases–why not just pop him in a high chair, swing, or bouncy seat?–but the Burt Squirt won’t sit in any of those for the duration of a meal. I think it’s because they require him to be strapped in, while the bébéPOD allows him to sit up free of restraint.

There’s a similar product on the market called the Bumbo, and honestly I’m not sure one is superior to the other. We chose the bébéPOD over the Bumbo because the wider leg holes and all-around less restrictive design accommodate our chunky child; he would have outgrown a Bumbo before he was two months old.

A tip: Search children’s consignment shops or craigslist instead of buying new. The “plus” version with the tray retails for around $50, but we picked ours up sans tray for $15. Later we decided we wanted the tray and purchased one at Babies R Us for around $12. (Alas and alack, it didn’t come with one of the adorable kiwi placemats.) But you can find the ones with trays used, too.

Boppy

Of course you can breastfeed without a nursing pillow, or you can use any old pillow to give your baby the boost he or she needs to get to the goods. I never nurse without a pillow because, at not quite six months, the Burt Squirt weighs over 18 pounds and just about breaks my arms during nursing sessions that can last up to half an hour. And I don’t use any old pillow because I find it awkward.

A Boppy fits around my waist to provide a comfortable and stable prop for nursing. And did I mention it frees up your hands? You wouldn’t know it from the pictures of nursing mothers cuddling their babies (making me wonder why they’re bothering with a Boppy at all), but you really can do it hands-free! The Burt Squirt actually prefers I nurse him hands-free; he has a conniption if I touch his head while he’s eating, which eliminates a couple of nursing holds.

Breastfeeding eats up (heh) a ton of time, especially in the beginning when your baby is learning how to nurse. Why not reclaim some of that time for yourself? Thanks to my Boppy, I’ve been able to eat dinner while nursing (even at a table, with friends and family), read books, play board games, and use my computer. If I weren’t able to do these things, I’d have completely lost my mind somewhere around day one of motherhood. It’s nice to be able to stay sane–and retain a semblance of the woman I was BBS (Before Burt Squirt)–while still doing the best thing for my baby.

Exersaucer

God bless the person who invented the Exersaucer, without which we would never eat a home-cooked meal or have clean toilets. The Burt Squirt is too big for his britches and could stand up for hours, but he’s not yet able to do that without Mommy or Daddy holding on to him. We do, of course, but sometimes you’ve just got to let go of your kid for a few minutes so you can fix yourself a sandwich or get dressed.

There are lots of different Exersaucers that feature a variety of activities. When choosing, consider ones with fewer electronic components and more activities–things to grab, spin, chew on, pull, pick up, turn, flip, shake, rattle. Also, get an Exersaucer that fits your baby. We tried one Exersaucer when the Burt Squirt was around three months old, and his arms were too short to reach out for any of the toys on the tray portion–which was a bit of a problem because it was only a tray portion! We went with this model because of there were plenty of toys within arm’s reach (also, because expectant friends offered to let us borrow it till their twins are old enough to use it), and the rest he grew into over time.  The Exersaucer has actually been a fun way to track the Burt Squirt’s growth, and nothing makes you feel prouder as a parent than seeing how proud he is whenever he can finally reach that toy he’s been trying to get for a few weeks.

Except maybe when you manage to clean a kitchen and bathroom and dust your living room while your baby “Exersauces” for a solid 40 minutes.

Vtech Move and Crawl Ball

When we received this as a baby shower gift I was a little skeptical, but the Move and Crawl ball has turned out to be one of our favorite baby toys. In fact it was the first toy that really engaged the Burt Squirt, as, I’ll remind you, he thinks he’s a bigger boy than he is.  He was never a fan of lying on his back reaching for dangling toys in his baby gym, and, when he began to sit unassisted at a little before four months, the ball provided something easy to play with in an upright position. I think it actually helped develop his sense of balance and gave him some core strength.

The other thing I love about the Move and Crawl Ball is that, unlike a lot of other baby toys, the buttons respond readily to those uncoordinated, light baby finger touches. If a baby can’t make something work, he’ll quickly lose interest, but the Burt Squirt’s ability to interact with his ball keeps him entertained pretty much until the cat runs into his field of vision and distracts him. But even Mommy can’t compete with the cat…

Mommy (and Daddy) readers: what are your favorite baby things?

It’s a prerogative of parenthood to have your child professionally photographed at least once a year — or every few months, if you have a new baby. This can be pricey, but JCPenney meets our needs by offering frequent coupons for affordable portrait packages with no sitting fees. At the Burt Squirt’s last session, the JCPenney portrait staff went above and beyond and let Mr. Burt and me jump in for a couple of family shots without charging us an additional sitting fee.

Of course, that got us to buy more pictures we otherwise wouldn’t have purchased, because we are new parents and therefore suckers. So it was really just a slick business move on the part of JCPenney, but I won’t hold it against them, since I got cute pictures out of the deal.

Or funny pictures, in this case:

When I posted it on Facebook, my mother-in-law commented that it needed a funny caption above the Burt Squirt’s head to reflect his thoughts about his situation.  She’s right.

However, seeing as I haven’t come up with anything cleverer than “Yuck!” or “Bleurgh!” I invite you all to submit your best caption to the very first LRBurt.com contest.  The winner will get a prize, though I can’t promise anything more than a post featuring my favorite submission.  Though that would be pretty cool, wouldn’t it?

Feel free to enter as many times as you want.  You can simply post your caption(s) in a comment (if you followed this link from Facebook, please comment in this post rather than to the Facebook thread).  Or, if you’re Photoshop-savvy, snag the pic and edit away.

The contest will run through next Wednesday.

Tell a friend!

It’s apt that Mr. Burt and I often refer to the Burt Squirt as “The Buddy,” as our approach to parenting tends to reflect the philosophy presented in the commercial jingle for the doll of the same name:  wherever we go, he goes.

Inspired by Mr. Burt’s sister and brother-in-law, we’ve opted to place The Buddy in whatever activities or social situations arise for us.  In other words, if we want to do it, we do it.  The Buddy comes along for the ride.  The hope is that by the time these settings are actually age-appropriate for him, they’ll be so normal to him that we’ll avoid freakouts and bad behavior.

Also, in becoming Mommy and Daddy, Mr. Burt and I have enough to adjust to without letting go of our normal social lives.

While in terms of physical development The Buddy may not be more advanced than other kids his age (apart from that little thing where he can already sit up unassisted), he’s off the charts in worldly experience.

At two weeks old, he went to a restaurant for the first time.

At three weeks, he had his first Starbucks…

…and spent his first afternoon away from Mommy and Daddy, with Grandmommy and Mimi.

At one month, he tiptoed through the tulips at the Dallas Arboretum…

…and experienced his first Bond family holiday brunch (Easter, at the Gaylord Texan Resort).

At two months, he had his first overnight trip to Grandmommy and Grandaddy’s…

…played at the neighborhood park…

…saw it all happening at the zoo…

…and swam in Damon and TK’s pool on Memorial Day.

At three months, he attended his second wedding (and had a blowout, hence the shirtlessness)…

…helped us celebrate our wedding anniversary at a symphony concert/picnic at the park…

…and  saw his first movie.  (Really — he sat and watched the whole thing.)

He handled it all so beautifully, never once showing any sign of minding being dragged around with Mommy and Daddy, even seeming to enjoy being taken along for the ride.  We never gave a second thought to taking our now four month-old out to family friends’ house for our traditional cookout and fireworks extravaganza.

At twenty-eight, Mr. Burt and I missed the 4th of July fireworks for the first time.

The Burt Squirt at 3 months, but looking more like 5 or 6 months. It's the man boobs.

“Can he sit up?” asked Lindsay, the photographer, at the start of our three month-old’s session at the JC Penney Portrait Studio.

“For a few seconds,” I replied, my husband quickly adding, his voice strident with paternal pride, “He did it for a whole minute the other day!”

“We’ll give it a try,” Lindsay said.

Try was the operative word. After a few unsuccessful attempts at snapping a picture before the Burt Squirt toppled over sideways (I think this had less to do with the Burt Squirt not having good balance than with his not wanting to sit up), she asked her assistant for the various tools of the photography trade that keep infants propped up for photo shoots.

She asked us, “How old is he?”

“Three months,” I answered, my husband chiming in again, “Four months on Thursday, actually!”

Lindsay stopped arranging the Burt Squirt and looked him over.  “Seriously?  He’s big.  I thought he must be five or six months.  That’s why I asked if he could sit up.”  She shook her head, chuckled to herself.  And repeated, “He’s big!”

“We get that a lot,” I said, because it was the truth.

A few weeks earlier, a Walmart cashier had clucked her tongue at the sleeping baby in the shopping cart.  “Oo-ee!  He’s juicy! How old that child?”

“Eleven weeks,” I replied, adding, as the cashier furrowed her brow in the effort to convert weeks to months, “Almost three months.”

“Three months!’ the cashier cried, then proceeded to grumble, “Ain’t no way that baby only three months.  Look like he five or six months.  Three months.  Heh.”

She looked up, suddenly, and her grumbles became a shout at a fellow cashier just closing up at the next wrap stand.  “How old you think this baby look?”

The second cashier shambled over and looked the Burt Squirt up and down.  “Five or six months.”

“He three months old!” said the first cashier.

Now it was me who was being looked up and down.  “What you feeding this child?  Cereal?”

“Nope,” I replied, grinning in amusement — and, I admit — a touch of pride, “just breastmilk.”

“Breastmilk.”  The cashier’s eyes dropped a few inches south of my chin.  “Heh.  I never did none of that breastmilk.  Hurt too much.”

I chuckled politely, because, well…what do you say to a Walmart cashier when she tells you about her breastfeeding pain?  She shifted her attention to the still-sleeping Burt Squirt.

“Three months old and he that big…I bet you don’t qualify for wick, do you?”

“Pardon?”  I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly.

“Wick,” she repeated.

It wasn’t until she explained that she, too, had a baby who was big for his age, and that somehow that had kept them from qualifying for it, that I understood she was asking if I received WIC.

She proceeded to tell me how she’d gotten around the problem of having a big, healthy-looking baby by getting her sister to apply for WIC, while I contemplated how strange this conversation had become.  Never in my life had I been asked if I was on, or had applied for, government assistance.

Did I look poor?  I was wearing my bleach-stained yoga pants and an old t-shirt and had tied my hair up in a quick, sloppy bun.  Then again, you can buy that look at designer boutiques.

Maybe it was because, rather than buy expensive baby formula, I’d resorted to feeding my child from my own breasts.

Or maybe it was just because I was shopping at Walmart.  It was, after all, the very supermarket in which a woman stalked me, offering parenting advice to me and bits of a sticky bun to the Burt Squirt. But that’s another story for another day.

Contrary to popular belief, it’s not the low low prices that keep me shopping at Walmart.  It’s the stories.  (It’s certainly not the way they randomly stop selling items that are a part of my regular shopping list.)

(Okay, I admit it.  The low low prices are the main reason I shop at Walmart.  But the stories are a bonus.)

I’d say that, as the mommy of a big baby, these stories are my new normal, except that I’ve got lots of strange stories about Walmart, going back long before I was the mommy of a big baby.

But then, doesn’t everyone?

The Burt Squirt on the Diaper Deck, which, incidentally, was invented by his grandfather. Because the Squirt's daddy inevitably had a blowout whenever they were out, and in those days there were no such things as infant changing tables. A true family legacy.

I’ve mentioned it before, but it bears repeating that for my first Mother’s Day, the Burt Squirt gave me eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.  Mr. Burt gave me the day off from diaper duty.  And a new coffeemaker.  All such thoughtful mommy gifts that it’s impossible to say which is the best.

Yesterday was Mr. Burt’s first Father’s Day.

He got a shirt that didn’t fit.

He volunteered to change two diapers.  Both turned out to be horrendously poopy.

Three times he picked up the Burt Squirt and became the target of projectile spit-ups of atomic proportions.

Apart from sounding like the “The Twelve Days of Father’s Day,” this must be proof of something.

Is it that I’m the Burt Squirt’s favorite?  Or does he realize, even at this tender age, the wisdom in not biting the breast that feeds him? Maybe it’s just one more example of the gender disparity inherent in Hallmark holidays.

One thing I’m sure of:  I wouldn’t have had as good an attitude as Mr. Burt if any of these misfortunes had befallen me on Mother’s Day.  He takes the bad parts of parenting in stride, without losing his smile or getting annoyed at the Burt Squirt.  Because he knows that in life, crap happens.  Literally.  And you’ve just got to clean it up and move on without letting yourself get mired in it.

This from the man who swore, before the Squirt was born, that he’d never be able to change a poopy diaper without throwing up.

So Happy Father’s Day to my better half.  I learn more from you about how to be a great parent than I could get any parenting book.  Especially since I don’t have time to read parenting books.

And Liam may only be three months old, but with you for his example, he’s well on his way to being a great dad someday, too.

And, as the poops of the fathers are visited upon the sons, you’ll be vindicated on a future Father’s Day.  What better present is there than that?