I still can’t quite believe there’ll soon be someone small enough to fit inside these.
“What are you after?” the woman behind the stall asks with a smile.
I shrug. “Honestly? I’m not really sure.”
She grins knowingly. “First baby?”
I nod. There’s no judgement in her expression. No fake politeness. Just warmth.
“Well,” she says, pushing herself to her feet, “let me give you one piece of advice. Don’t go mad buying outfits.”
I laugh softly. “Really?”
“Oh, they’re adorable,” she says, waving a hand over the tiny clothes, “but what you actually need are these.” She points towards a stack of long-sleeved sleepsuits. “And plenty of these.” This time she gestures to short-sleeved bodysuits. “A few cute outfits for showing the baby off, and the rest just needs to be practical.”
I glance down at the tiny clothes again. “You make it sound a lot simpler than everyone else does.”
The woman chuckles. “Six children, love. I’ve learned there’s a difference between what babies need and what people try to sell you.”
Something in my chest loosens slightly. “I don’t even know the sex yet,” I admit, picking up a pale pink outfit.
They’d given me regular scans in the hospital, but I’d been too out of it to show much interest.
“Then stick to white,” she says immediately. “Once baby’s here, you can always add pink or blue cardigans.”
I smile. “That’s actually a really good idea.”
“There you are.”
I turn at the sound of Ray’s voice.
He’s standing a few feet away, his chest rising harder than usual, and his eyes locked on me. Relief flashes across his face so quickly I almost miss it. Then it’s gone. Replaced by irritation.
I turn back to the stall before he can start.
“I’ll take seven of the long-sleeved ones,” I tell the woman, picking up a cream sleepsuit. “And seven of the short-sleeved bodysuits too.”
“Good choice,” she says approvingly.
My eyes drift over the display again before landing on a tiny, knitted cardigan hanging from a hook. It’s soft lemon wool with tiny pearl buttons, clearly hand knitted.
“I’ll take this too,” I say quietly, reaching out to touch it.
The woman smiles as she takes it down. “This one’s beautiful.”
Behind me, I hear Ray exhale impatiently. “We could’ve gotten all this in Harrods,” he mutters.
I ignore him completely.
“How many blankets would you recommend?” I ask instead.
The woman starts folding the sleepsuits neatly. “Three or four to begin with. Trust me, babies go through more washing than you can imagine.”
I laugh softly. “That many?”
“Oh, love, you’ll learn quickly.” She glances at my stomach fondly. “Muslins too. Buy loads of muslins. You’ll never regret those.”
I nod seriously, like she’s sharing some ancient wisdom. Behind me, Ray shifts his weight again.