As an avid musician, children’s toys and music boxes have all but killed my love for music–it’s nearly impossible to find a nice nursery music maker that isn’t bright yellow and blue and doesn’t play a weird choppy version of Fur Elise. (You know, that awful Beethoven piece that you never want to hear ever again).

The combination of hormones and excitement forced me to buy umpteen pregnancy books that caused me anxiety for most of my pregnancy. Other than the few times I referenced them for help with weird uterus pangs and a description of "the mucus plug," the stack of them were better as a nursing stool than source of comfort.

Let’s face it, some parents aren’t gourmet chefs, let alone halfway decent cooks, so when it comes time for solid foods, many of us (and yes I’m raising my hand, here) struggle with the guilt that comes with feeding the kid pears out of a jar.

With all the paintings, knick-knacks, and brightly colored toys in my daughter’s room, it’s a wonder she can actually sleep. Combine that with the busy crib bedding patterns that most stores sell, and it’s overstimulation central in there.