We Like to Call It Being Frugal

As many of you who read this blog know, I'm very cheap. Extremely cheap. I know of only one person more cheap than me (a co-worker, who I admire more and more each day as he rails on the fools who pay full price). Yet when it comes to baby things, there aren't that many inexpensive things, and when things are cheap, you question their quality. (A onesie for only $4? Well, it's obviously a strangling hazard, unlike this $30 one that has cute monkeys on it and will allow my child to breathe freely.)

And not only are there not many cheap things, there is only about 8,833,281 expensive things to buy, some necessary (crib, diapers, an Xbox), some not so necessary (PS3). But you also don't want to be the only one not to get your child the best, most innovative thing around.

I'm somewhat heartened by the fact that the Chicago neighborhood we live in, the beautiful Rogers Park, is not particularly class/stuff conscious. About 30 blocks to the south of us, in the frou-frou hoods of Lincoln Park, Lakeview or our old (and vastly changed since we lived there 7 years ago) stomping ground of Bucktown, you wouldn't be caught dead without the most top-of-the-line stuff. (What? Organic booties? Too bad. Our son's wearing organic, free-trade, low-impact dyed, carbon footprintless booties made by the disenfranchised Kow-Kow tribe of upper Mongolia. We're saving the world's most fascinating indigenous tribe and protecting delicate tootsies at the same time.)

I think, eventually, my cheapness will win out, however, and by the time Barnabas reaches the ripe old age of 2, his toys will consist of rocks, twine, and apple cores. I say, spoil them when they're babies, when everyone is taking their picture, but when they lose that baby cuteness and start looking like a kid, the cameras will go away, and there won't be any permanent history of our son wearing the most flammable and unsafe clothes.

You just have to pick your battles.