Suckers 'R Us

I don't think I have ever felt the ooze of materialism and wasteful spending any more than I did this past week. I had never before been in a building which was designed with the sole purpose in mind to play on the emotions of expecting mothers and the well-meaning loved ones who plan to dote on this tiny new being.
I'm talking about Babies 'R Us.
It is true, I registered at this spending mecca in the past, before I knew the lions' den into which I was pulling those I love. However, I had never actually set foot in the building before this week. And my eyes have seen the light, or shall I say darkness, that is the baby super-store.
From the moment I entered the parking lot, my over-spending sensors began to weaken. The sight of slightly pregnant women who had just finished filling their registry or new babies being pushed in strollers after their mothers had pampered them began to cause me to swell inside with joy.
Ah . . . babies!
What could be more simple and pleasurable than a tiny human being?
As I crossed the threshold, my senses were overwhelmed with baby . . . calm music playing overhead which made me want to rock a baby to sleep (in a brand new glider sold on aisle twelve), soft baby pinks and blues decorated the racks of tiny sweaters and leggings (on sale!), I could smell the baby powder (aisle 2, next to the baby wash) and my fingers longed to reach for the soft plushness of the yellow baby blankets (which would fit perfectly into that beautiful new crib!). I saw complete matching sets of bouncers, play-yards, strollers, high chairs, car seats - everything in a young life that must coordinate because, heaven forbid the Pack-n-Play not match the baby carrier!
The registry section, an entire corner of the store, was outfitted with helpful sales associates and plush chairs for the expectant mother (so as to not exacerbate the swelled ankles, I'm sure). All angled precisely so as to allow an ample view of the necessary goods the store is there to provide.
As I shopped for a needed booster seat (purchased with a gift card which was nearly a year old, much like my little cutie), I was nearly poisoned by the toxic un-necessities of portable placemats, designer wipes covers, decorative potty training seats and tiny sandals which perfectly matched the design I had been searching for for myself.
Never did it become more real to me, though, the dangerous nature of this place, than when I began to check out. This is when I discovered that no one is actually expected to purchase anything for themselves in this wonderland. No. The sole purpose of this establishment is to suck dry the wallets of those who would only spend exorbitant amounts of money when they can justify the spending for someone else and to convince mothers-to-be that this "stuff" is necessary and will be an appropriate display of affection from those they love best, but who, also, would never dream of owning something so over-priced unless it were a gift, which somehow makes the process of spending way too much for something the child won't even remember owning (or sleeping in or riding in or playing with) all okay. Normal, in fact.
And, thus, I watched the older woman in front of me in line pay $50 for a diaper bag (for her new grandchild, most likely). Which, while cute, was a bag. A bag to hold diapers (and other necessities, it's true). An amount which, were it to be spent on any other bag, would seem a waste, but because it's for the baby somehow seems just fine.
Then, when it was my turn, I was asked (a question required to be asked or I would receive a free drink . . . from where, I wondered? The decaffeinated coffee bar in the back that I must have missed?) if I was purchasing from a registry. No. Did I want to take advantage of the free gift-wrapping service. No, thank you. Oh, and here's my receipt, gift receipt included, have a nice day. As if it's completely absurd to believe that I was actually purchasing a product for my child that would, that very afternoon, be covered in cheerios and uneaten vegetables, rather than re-gifted or returned for the purposes of buying the cheaper model at Wal-Mart and pocketing the difference.
At this point, I ran for my life from the jaws of the monster, vowing never to return or register there again. Until, you know, my next child comes along and this store happens to be the only one carrying the print for those crib sheets I just have to have . . . even if they are a little more expensive than the ones elsewhere. Someone else will buy them for me, right?