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The Hot Mess Mom’s Guide to Baby Registries

The Hot Mess Mom’s Guide to Baby Registries

Disclaimer: NO this is not a sponsored post. Meaning, none of these companies have paid me to recommend their products. YES, I have included affiliate links (read more about those here). Enjoy!

I have four kids. I get asked a lot about what I recommend for baby products. Let me just say, whew, babies are no joke. Like, for real. As a parent, I would sell internal organs at some points to soothe their screeches and make life at least remotely easier.

Shit gets expensive.

As a middle (lower?) class parent, having four kids requires some serious budgeting. If you’re like me, you’re extremely frugal (my husband actually is and forces it on me, but I digress) but get clouded by pregnancy hormones and the next thing you know you’re crying into $300 worth of baby socks.

Let me help.

I’m going to tell you literally all of the items you need to register for and what items you can skip to save your pocketbook (or marriage).

First, let’s start with saving money! Here’s the crap I wouldn’t buy again:

  • A crib. What the shit? This chick is NUTS! Nope. Not. First of all, there are much more ergonomically and spatially beneficial products than a crib. Sure, it’s cute and magical and all that sappy crap, but, when it’s all said and done most of my kids never set foot in the two that we have. But they transition into toddler/twin beds! Yeah, once you have your teething heathen in that bed, you won’t want to transition. It will look like someone put it through a wood chipper with all those jagged little teeth marks up and down every square inch of your precious $400 chew toy.
  • Bumbos. You know, those little chairs that make your babies look like uncomfortable piles of mashed potatoes? Skip.
  • Noise machines. Ever heard of a fan? Skip.
  • Mobile. First of all, isn’t this, like, a little noose dangling above their beds? Yep. Pass.
  • Baby clothes. Gosh, this one is painful even to write. I know the absolute heroin-like high that comes with rubbing little onesies on your face and dreamily staring at your bulging gut. Calm your tits a little. Everyone and their cocker spaniel is going to buy you baby clothes. Literally everyone. Save your money.
  • Baby toys. Again, everyone is going to use that last $5 impulse purchase to buy little rubber keys that will cascade to the bottom of you toy box in two weeks. Babies don’t play with toys. By the time they do, they will be lost and you’ll have 17 dozen more to replace them.

Okay, okay, Negative Nancy. Get to the good stuff! Let’s S-H-O-P! 

Here are the items you absolutely must register for:

  • Amazon Prime membership. Hell, your entire registry should be on Amazon. Everyone Primes everything and everyone hates going to those germ-infested kiosks at Target and printing off 32 pages of your registry and then learning Mandarin in order to figure out what color sheets to buy.
  • Huge ass diaper bag. You are going to need to shove a lot of shit in that bag sometimes. Most of the time, it’s a diaper bag and your purse. This Skip Hop Duo bag changed my life. I had it with my twins and wish I had it with the other two turds. Lots of pockets, room for a pump if you need it and, when your dog pees on it, you can easily get the urine stench/stain out of it.
  • Snap and Go stroller. Again, this was a recent discovery. It seems bizarre. Just a frame to hold your infant carseat? However, it’s genius. It takes up less than half the space of a travel system and costs way, way less. I mean, if you spring for a travel system, aren’t you getting rid of it with the matching infant carseat? So, you never actually used the seat portion of the stroller. Snap and Go all the way.
  • A good carseat. I know, this is supposed to be a cheap list, but since I saved you money elsewhere, spend it here. This Chicco carseat is: cute, easy to clean, comfy, light and super easy to use. I have had four infant carseats. This one takes the cake, by far.

  • U-Shaped pillows. I have had Boppies and the generic versions. Both are great. Go generic for the extra savings. You definitely need these for those first few months. I used them in my lap and whenever I laid the babies anywhere that wasn’t their beds. They always loved the little cocoons.

  • Rock and Play. Holy farts on fire, this is the best thing you will ever, ever, ever need. I’m not kidding. Don’t go with the battery-operated version unless you have a battery factory. Get the one that plugs in. These are so compact, easy to store and baby cocaine. No bassinets needed. This is all you need for beds for the first 4-6 months.

  • Bouncy chair. My twins had colic. For a few weeks (months? years?) I had to bounce them in these chairs with my feet in order to keep them from waking the neighbors deaf dog up in the night. Buy the chair. Worth every penny. The vibration feature was worthless to me. Mostly because we would have spent $456 a day in batteries to keep that shit running. Just need the chair and anyone’s foot to rock that beast until they graduate high school.

  • Jumperoo. No, you don’t need this right away, but they can be an expense, so I recommend having Grandma and Grandpa buy them. Get the ones that actually hit the floor, not with a platform underneath. They don’t have enough jumping fun and get pissed real quick.

  • Avent bottles. You’re going to hear people tell you to buy 14 different styles because you never know your baby’s palette. I do. They like Avent. I have four kids and they all drank just fine from them. Buy them. You won’t be sorry.

  • Lots of pacifiers. This is where I would get two options but LOTS of those two options. You’re going to be delirious at 3 am digging between couch cushions wishing you had spent the extra $20 on emergency pacifiers. Spend the money right now. I recommend the standard newborn style and the softer nipple style.
  • Fart whistleWhat’s the now? Yes. This was an urgent overnight purchase I made with my twins. You see, they had severe gas issues. This was the holy grail of recommendations in my mommy groups. It’s like a butt straw you stick in their cracks that lets all the trapped farts loose. Yes, really. You can literally hear the whistle sizzle and see their little faces relax after their monster farts are freed. Buy a box and have it on hand. You can thank me later. 

hot mess mom baby registry mrs mommy mack

Double the Wowza: Two Toddlers AND Twins on the Way

Double the Wowza: Two Toddlers AND Twins on the Way

Blog Twins

Where have I been? Wow, that’s a loaded question. I have still been here. But, more or less in a stress-induced zombie state due to the fact that I am pregnant, again. For those of you who don’t recall, I have a three year old son and two year old daughter. But, before you give me the obligatory, “You’re going to be so busy!” Let me just hit you with this bitch slap… I am pregnant with twins.

Merciful mother of God.


Two babies.

One and two.

I blame this all on my mother. Firstly, for giving me the genetic makeup to create two fetuses the good ol’ fashioned way (because I know you’re DYING to know if we tried to have twins — because I have sadly been asked that more than once).  Also, I am almost sure she did some type of Native American sorcery with locks of my hair and an old pigeon. She wanted twins so bad she wasn’t taking any prisoners. As I left with my husband to our first ultrasound, the last words out of her witch doctor lips were, “Two heartbeats!”

She did this to me.

Now, I had a feeling I was packing some heat before I ever went to the doctor. I told my husband it felt like twins and he laughed at me like I told him I think the world is going to end — he didn’t believe it, but would put a bomb shelter together, just in case.

When we got the ultrasound, the tech quickly asked, “Are you ready for a surprise?” She then switched to her data entry screen and switched “fetuses” from one to two. Nothing registered in my head until I saw that drop down click for two babies.

I yelled, “What did you just say?!”

“You’re having twins.”

“Holy hell. I TOLD YOU SO!!!!!!” I screamed while slapping my husband in the most glorious “I told you so” of my life.

He laughed. Then he winced. Then he held my hand like we were about to be flung overboard on the Titanic.

We sat there, gripping hands and watching these two beautiful blurbs glob around in my stomach for what seemed like forever. I cried. I laughed. I immediately started rattling off all the things we needed to buy in a manic overshare in front of the technician.

“We need a van! More beds! I need to potty train Sissy! I better be able to breastfeed! Imagine two babies on formula! So many diapers! When will I sleep? We are never having sex again!”

And here we sit. Weeks later and I am still reeling from the reality of having FOUR children under five. Might even be four kids under four depending on how fast these kids want to exit. I can’t even imagine what the next year has in store for my sweet, naive family. But, I can say, this is going to be one helluva ride.

-Mrs. Mommy Mack

Bushwacked: When I Didn’t Bikini Shave Before My C-Section

Bushwacked: When I Didn’t Bikini Shave Before My C-Section

There’s enough shit you have to remember before going into surgery and leaving with an infant. Walking in, you have a luggage rack full of: Boppies, diaper bags, diapers (both adult and baby), and so.many.fucking.clothes.

When my daughter was born, it was my second c-section. The first was a whirlwind of an emergency after three days of labor and I barely remember it. Walking in, I thought I was an old pro. I was ready for anything. My pubes, on the other hand, were a different story.

When my husband and I arrived at the hospital, my mother was impatiently waiting to get the show on the road.  We were all glowing with anticipation to meet this little girl. I’m pretty sure we all walked into the hospital room holding hands with happy tears in our eyes. This was the moment we had all been waiting for.

I quickly flopped on the bed in my starchy gown ready to experienced one of life’s most precious moments. During my first c-section, the time between the announcement of necessary c-section and the moment I heard my son’s first cry was less than 10 minutes. I was expecting this type of urgency during round two and was sadly mistaken.

The elderly nurse that would be preparing me for surgery waltzed in immediately and cut to the chase.

“Did you shave?” She croaked, no doubt just stepping in from a cigarette break.

“Huh?” I said, quickly glimpsing at my loved ones’ bright red faces seated next to me hoping she was talking about my armpits.

“Your bikini area, did you shave it?” She asked again, this time with much more vigor in her turkey neck.

“I was not told this was necessary…” I whispered, hoping I could avoid this impending doom.

“No problem. I will take care of it,” she said and with the whirl of one liver-spotted hand she had a hedge trimmer between my thighs.

Did I mention my mother is still sitting right next to me?

“Holy hell!” I squealed as I watched the scene before me unravel.

“The Packers play tonight, eh?” My mom quickly questioned my husband at ten octaves higher than normal in order to be heard over the landscaping that was taking place. I’m not sure my husband ever answered her as he was vomiting up giggles so hard he couldn’t function.

While I stared at the ceiling, pinching the fat of my thighs willing this moment to be over, I heard the trimmers stop. The room grew silent with happiness as the awkward cloud began to dissolve.
Before I could let out the pained breath that was gripping inside my rib cage, I heard ol’ Turkey Neck screech, “We need another clippers in here!”
She screamed this out the open door of my room to apparently awaken every person in a coma in the floor above us.

My lack of a beauty regime in the prior nine months was wielding a monster that could not be tamed by one go-round with a trimmer. My mother’s face was puce as she looked on from her rocking chair. A chair she, no doubt, envisioned holding her granddaughter in for the first time, but instead watched a Barbie wig pile at the feet of a nurse who should have retired during the Clinton Administration.

My lower half burned while this woman wrenched, tugged and buzzed every inch of my bits. We could have eaten dinner off my loins that evening. She didn’t give up though, not until 30 MINUTES passed and I whimpered in pain. Pain for both my bikini area and shriveling pride.

If it wasn’t for the distraction of the surgery and soon-to-be newborn, I am sure I would have died more than once of embarrassment that afternoon. Moral of the story is: even if you can’t see your va-jay-jay for six months, it still needs to be at-the-ready no matter what the circumstance.

What’s your embarrassing birth story? Huge bush? Poop on the table? I want to know! Tell me about it in the comments!

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