The Great Diaper Debacle of 2008

The late 20s saw the Great Depression. During most of the 30s, the Great Dust Bowl brought on by drought dried out soil, turning it in to dust, and sweeping it off in to the Atlantic. Farmers went without. There have been Great Storms, Great Famines, and Great Blizzards. Great I ask you - what is so very great about depression, crop less land, raging storms, periods of hunger, and severe weather? These non-aptly named periods of world history are tragic and devastating and stressful for all involved, but none so much as the tale I tell of the Great Diaper Debacle of 2008.

I am my mother's daughter. A born shopper by genetic makeup, good breeding, and introduction to proper society. Valet at Nordstrom’s, a shoe closet to make Imelda Marcus envy. It's a noble pursuit I've mastered and some day I hope to pass down my knowledge to my children's children's children.

In 2007 friends my age started having children of their own. Anyone else would probably find concern that everyone around them was buying homes and procreating, but I was ok, I had great shoes. I had fabulous shoes. These babies also provided the never before allowed opportunity to shop for baby shit. I was a born shopper. Born in a family of shoppers who knew shopping. I could do this, no problem.

My friend Stacey is due in February and registered at Babies R Us. I had perused the list on the World Wide Web and saw several things that suited my fancy and Stacey's I'm sure, since they were on the damn registry. With the site down for several days undergoing updates, I had to make an in store visit. My closest Babies R Us is in Van Nuys, not far from, um, nothing. They printed me out the list, and told me how it works - find the item numbers on the shelves that correspond to the product. Easy enough.

I had little interest in nursing products and that sort of thing. Nor did I care for anything related to poo. "Horton Hears A Hoo." "One Fish, Two Fish, Three, Four, Five Fish." "There's a Wocket in My Pocket." The books were not in a dialect I understood. I read wocket. It didn't put me to sleep like it promised, and it seemed confusing for an infant. Babies need this? And that? Strollers, sleepers, onesies, twosies, special diaper pals and play pins, holders and swings. It was a world of baby I felt I didn't understand. All my previous shopping experience left me weak, unprepared, grasping for air. If only she had registered for a cute sling back pair of Jimmy Choo's at Neiman Marcus, well I'd totally like have that shit nailed. Baby, oh baby, I know nothing about you and the multitude of your needs.

I eventually settled on a diaper genie (no there was no Robin William's voiced character which showed itself despite looking), but it was a big box, and who doesn't like giving a present in a big box? Stacey would love me, if not for my girlish good looks, for bringing her presents in big boxes.

That could have been the most stressful experience of my life. It was great in the way famine and depression ravaged communities.

That should have been it, but I also needed to bring diapers. I know as much about baby diapers as the trip to Babies R Us for a gift that preceded this, but I was a smart girl (though I can't help but think my parents say so condescendingly). There were brands and stages of diapers - an entire wall of them. I picked stage 2 and put it in my cart. But it said "Jumbo." Oh this won't do. I put it back and grabbed another. "Super Mega." Shit. The last thing I need is for one of my best friends to think I think that she's going to have a Super Mega baby. Can you picture it in some Godzilla scene goo goo and gaa gaaing as she steps over tall building and picks up people and cars as she giggles. It was not an image I needed in Stacey's head, or mine. I asked a Target employee for help.

"I'm confused. My friend Stacey, I pretty sure she is going to have a very normal sized baby. I have no reason to believe its jumbo or super mega. Please just show me the diapers that say Average Cute All American Baby Size."

I think I had though forgotten where I was. Target in Van Nuys. My dialogue was returned with a one "no hablo ingles." I'd taken four years of Spanish but it had been a while and I don't think to the level to explain my Godzilla fear of a Super Mega baby. My Spanish stopped somewhere between where's the shitter, and I need another beer.

The loudspeaker announced the closure of Target Van Nuys and I put the Jumbo diapers in my cart. She'd be overloaded at the shower with small sandwiches and baskets of onesies and I'd cause a distraction as I put the diapers with the others we were asked to bring.

That could have been the second most stressful experience of my life.

On Monday I was at happy hour with friends, getting my drink on, something I know much better than baby books about Wockets and I told them about the days before and how clearly my training as master shopper, left me ill prepared for what I'd found at the baby store. There was much I didn't know. I told them, too, about the diapers.

The friend of the group, having a one year old of her own, bless her heart, says in the most diplomatic loving voice which said more to me about her concern for how I function in the world so deeply confused, "Super Mega, Jumbo - those are the sizes of the box. Those diapers, they are for normal sized babies. Not Godzilla babies."

It was funny to the group. Rather illuminating for me. But overall just a great relief. In 2 weeks when Stacey has baby Madison, I will try to be a good Aunt, loving and attentive, playful and adventurous, with little to no fear she will be a monster baby overtaking major metropolises and wrecking havoc on society. Just a cute little thing that I can't wait to meet.