Necessities multiply when mothers nest

I need a new toaster. What I don’t need is a headache.

I haven’t bought a toaster in years and I didn’t realize there were so many decisions to make. Do I need two slots or four; extra-wide slots for bagels, or a fancy defrost option? What about style? Should I choose something sleek and ultra-modern, or a retro-looking behemoth?

I’ve been half-heartedly looking at toasters for a while, waiting for the right one, the one that will do the best job on the Pop Tarts and frozen waffles the children will cram into it, to wave at me. I just can’t work up any enthusiasm for the purchase.

That’s why I noticed the young couple.

They were also looking at toasters and at all the other appliances in the store.

The woman was very pregnant and – I recognized the signs – nesting. The man pointed out that they already had a toaster, and a mixer and a coffee maker. Being a reasonable man, he didn’t mind upgrading, but he wanted to keep the budget in mind.

He should have saved his breath.

The pregnant woman crossed her arms over her belly and dug her heels in. And nobody can dig their heels in as deep as a woman who is carrying one 8-pound baby, two 5-pound breasts, and the extra 20-or-so pounds Mother Nature insists we hold onto in case another asteroid hits the earth and the wooly mammoths die off again leaving us all to starve in the tall grass.

She was outfitting a real family kitchen and he didn’t stand a chance.

Another time she might listen to her husband. But, when you’re a walking incubator you can’t hear anything but the sound of water sloshing around your ankles, and the siren call of a well-feathered nest.

I spent the next half hour stalking the couple through the store, eavesdropping as she explained why they needed one thing after another.

I’d forgotten what happens to women when they’re pregnant. They’ve got weight to throw around.

You can use the words, “our baby” like a club and bombard the poor male with vague, scary sounding phrases: “Howard, do you realize that I am effacing while you stand there and argue with me? Do you want our baby to be born in conflict?”

I remember crossing my arms over my hips (I carried low) and declaring that I wouldn’t bring an innocent life into a kitchen with such poor lighting. I wanted a bright new fixture and I was willing to postpone giving birth until I got it.

Of course, when I wanted to enclose the porch on our little house and make it into a sunroom, I made it clear that I could go into labor any minute and wouldn’t it be a shame if I had to bring our new baby into such dark and cave-like house.

Did he want our baby to grow pale and listless due to the lack of vitamin D? How would he feel if our baby got rickets and never learned to walk upright, when all I had asked him to do was just put up a few sheets of glass and a new front door? He built the room.

(Of course, when our baby was two years old, I left the car in gear and rolled it through that sunroom, but that’s another story.)

I lost the nesting couple in the electronics section of the store that day and I’m left with so many questions.

I don’t know if they got the clock radio that played soothing nature sounds. (“Oh, we could use this if our baby has colic.”)

Did she get the 350 thread-count sheets, and the new comforter? (“The old one is down, what if our baby is allergic?)

The woman has probably had the baby by now. And, naturally, I’m curious. I’d love to know how things turned out.

Is she happy with her new toaster? Did she get two slots or four?