A first pregnancy usually means an awesome baby shower for the new parents. The second child may get a half-hearted shower if it's the opposite sex of the first-born. Otherwise, it's hand-me-down town. The third child doesn't stand a chance. By the time our third (AND FINAL) pregnancy was here, we had all we needed.
Almost.
My parents have always tried to provide equally for my sister and me. If they spent a hundred dollars on her birthday, they'd spend a hundred on mine. If they helped pay her tuition, they paid mine as well. If they took her on a trip to Jamaica, they brought me home some souvenirs.
They have tried to do the same with their grandchildren. Caleb and Leah both received clothes, bibs, and amazing toys. When Elizabeth came around, we didn't need clothes or accessories. So, they bought diapers.
Lots of them.
One package a week until Libby was born. While we loved all the hand-made blankets, hair-bows, beautiful clothes, and stuffed animals, we were afraid to use them. Babies spit-up on new clothes and blankets, rip eyes and tails off stuffed animals, and eat hair-bows. The diapers were an amazing gift that we didn't care if she pooped on or not. In fact, we preferred that she did poop on them.
We still have two packages of Stage 5's left. I'm hoping we won't need them, but her only interest in the potty so far seems to be dumping objects in the water.
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