Bringing common sense with a grain of salt back to parenting!
Mistake: Believing every gadget, contraption, and “must-have” product is essential for good parenting.
Consequence: A stroller for jogging, one for travel, one for city sidewalks, one for country lanes… all for a baby who just wants to be carried.
Reality check: Babies need far less gear than marketers want us to believe — and parents need more space (and sanity) than clutter allows.
Modern parents are drowning in stuff. Every aisle, website, and Instagram ad insists you must have the newest swing, bassinet, or stroller designed by NASA engineers. Before you know it, your living room looks like a cross between a daycare and a tech startup and an obstacle course designed by ninja warrior. The irony? Your baby usually prefers your arms, a cardboard box, or the TV remote. The fact? Escaping Baby Gear Maximalism help reclaiming your space, your budget, and your back.
THE ISSUE
When our parents raised us, “baby gear” meant a crib, a stroller, and maybe a playpen with sharp corners that would give modern safety experts night sweats or panic attacks. Babies sat on blankets on the floor. Parents carried them around in their arms. And somehow, humanity survived without wipe warmers or self-rocking cribs.
Fast-forward to now. Babies are born into a consumer paradise of gadgets, gizmos, and furniture so specialized it feels like outfitting a space mission —only with more cup holders and USB ports:
A bassinet that rocks itself and emails you sleep reports.
Multiple strollers: travel, jogging, all-terrain, umbrella, “city chic,” “country rugged.”
Carriers for every mood: sling, wrap, structured, hybrid, backpack, hip seat.
“Soothing stations” that vibrate, sing lullabies in 32 lanuages, and glow in 17 colors.
Wipe warmers, bottle sterilizers, formula mixers, white-noise machines, smart monitors with oxygen sensors.
The result? Parents start to believe that if they don’t own allof it, they’re neglectful. The house fills with plastic, fabric, and wheels, and you suddenly realize you’ve spent your baby’s college fund on something that will be listed on facebook marketplace in six months.
Meanwhile, the baby? They’re in the corner chewing happily on the dog’s squeaky toy.
WHY PARENTS DO THIS
We don’t become maximalists because we’re foolish. We become maximalists because of fear, comparison, and very clever marketing.
Fear of missing out. Ads whisper: Other parents have this. If you don’t, your baby will suffer.
The “just in case” mindset. What if I want to jog? What if we travel to China? What if we are cut off-grid for six months due to extreme weather? (You live in the suburbs. You don’t jog.)
Social comparison. Baby showers, playdates, and social feeds double as gear expos. When another parent casually wheels out the latest “urban stroller,” you feel your basic model is practically neglect as if child services might drop by and ask why your stroller doesn’t have all-terrain tires.
The myth of optimization. Parenting is messy, unpredictable. Gear feels like a way to hack the chaos. Maybe the right swing will buy me additional 10 minutes to prepare the lunch (or take a quick nap).
Grandparent generosity. Well-meaning relatives buy every gadget on the registry, and three more not on it, because “the baby deserves the best.”
Retail therapy. Shopping for gear feels like action. Unlike the chaos of sleep training, clicking “Buy Now” feels controllable.
Influencer culture. Scroll Instagram: spotless nurseries, minimalist cribs, aesthetic toy baskets. Suddenly your perfectly fine bouncer looks like a crime against design punishable by ten years in aesthetic jail.
At heart, Baby Gear Maximalism is about anxiety disguised as preparation. We want to prove — to ourselves and to the world — that we’re ready.
HOW THIS HARMS CHILDREN (AND US)
The Wallet Wound. Gear piles up. You blink, and the receipt stack equals a down payment on a small car. That $1,500 “smart crib”? Used for six months. That “hiking stroller”? Used once — to the mall where you carried your baby daughter anyway because she hated the stroller.
The Clutter Chaos. Every room becomes a minefield of swings, seats, bassinets, and strollers. you’re not bonding with your baby; you’re dodging a bouncer at 3 a.m. like a tired ninja in your own living room.
The False Promise. Products promise miracles: “guaranteed longer naps!” “scientifically proven soothing!” And when they fail (and most of them do), parents tend to blame themselves instead of the marketing hype.
Baby-as-Consumer. When love = products, we accidentally teach kids early that happiness comes from buying. Consumer culture starts in the nursery.
Missed Simplicity. Babies don’t need half this gear. They learn coordination on the floor, bonding in your arms, comfort in your voice. Gadgets can’t replace those.
Parental Burnout. Managing, storing, cleaning, and assembling all this gear adds work. That stroller folds “with one hand”? Sure — but only after 15 minutes of wrestling and swearing under your breath while the baby screams.
AVOIDING THE TRAP
Breaking free from Baby Gear Maximalism isn’t about going gear-free. It’s about balance: choosing what truly helps, skipping the rest, and remembering your arms are the original carrier.
The Actual Essentials Test. A safe place to sleep. A way to travel (car seat, stroller, or carrier). Feeding supplies. Diapers. That’s it. Everything else is optional including the “ergonomic” wipe dispenser.
Borrow Before Buying. That $400 swing might be a lifesaver … or your baby’s sworn enemy. Borrow or buy secondhand first. Babies are unpredictable product reviewers.
One Stroller Rule. Pick one versatile stroller. Resist the jogging, city, travel, and “fashion” models. If you’re tempted, ask: Is this stroller or is this status symbol? If it’s status symbol, remember your baby can’t even spell status yet.
Reality Check Shopping. Buy for the life you live, not the fantasy one. You’re not trekking the Andes. You’re going to supermarket and hoping no one notices your shirt is inside out.
Rotate, Don’t Accumulate. Babies crave novelty. Instead of filling the house, rotate a few items. Move the bouncer to a different room. Instant “new toy.”
Floor Time Beats Gadgets. A blanket on the floor develops more motor skills than a $200 play seat. It’s free, it’s effective, and it doesn’t need batteries or a wi-fi update.
Declutter Without Guilt. Selling or donating unused gear isn’t failure. It’s parenting evolution. Plus: money back, space gained, sanity restored.
Quarantine Impulse Buys. Before buying, wait one week. If you’re still desperate for the wipe warmer after seven days of cold wipes… fine. (Spoiler: you won’t be. Your baby’s butt doesn’t care about room-temperature wipes.)
Laugh at Marketing. “Revolutionary crib!” “One-hand fold!” “Scientifically proven naps!” Translate: “We know you’re tired and desperate, so we’ll promise anything.”
Invest in Experiences, Not Things. Instead of stroller #14, buy a family photo shoot, a membership to the zoo, or just more takeout so you can rest. These outlast gear. Because sometimes a good meal is more life-changing than a $300 swing
Remember the Arms Rule. No gear will ever replace the comfort of your arms. Babies don’t care if the stroller has leather trim. They care about your smell, your warmth, your heartbeat.
THE PAYOFF
When you escape Baby Gear Maximalism, you get:
More space. A house where the floor isn’t booby-trapped by gadgets.
More money. Savings for things that matter (education, therapy, sleep).
More connection. Time spent holding your baby instead of assembling gear.
And here’s the truth: your baby won’t remember whether they rode in the deluxe jogging stroller with Bluetooth speakers or the basic umbrella stroller from the clearance aisle. They will remember the warmth of being held, the sound of your laugh, the comfort of your arms and the fact that you were present, not fumbling with a 47-step stroller fold.
So cut yourself free from the gear avalanche. Hold the baby. Step around the stroller graveyard. Remember: the best gear isn’t on your registry. It’s attached to your shoulders.
© Kristijan Musek Lešnik, 2025
