"Onesies are the best!" my husband's co-worker gushed. "Snap, snap, snap and you're done."

Pregnant with my first child, I was puzzled. Friends dismissed my inquiry ("What's a onesie?") as a joke. The spellchecker underlined the word in crimson, giving it the thumbs down. I finally found a reference to it in a book which only confused me further: "Is a onesie T-shirt an outfit or an undergarment? Answer: It's both."

Slightly panicked that I would be missing out on an essential piece of clothing for our newborn, I finally discovered what a onesie was. I had actually seen scads before — in my pre-pregnancy days I had simply not taken the pains to learn the detailed nomenclature of infant clothing. (Still stymied? A onesie is a bodysuit with a crotch closure.)

Clothing was only a minor portion of the daunting task of shopping for our new arrival, however. Baby stores are stuffed with objects ranging from the solely decorative (crib dust ruffles) to the marginally useful (diaper-wipe warmers) to the extraordinarily extravagant (a $950 sterling silver piggy bank for the baby who has everything).

Do the marketers believe that pregnancy hormones will cause a spate of irrational buying?

Colors and patterns are often stressed over functionality and affordability. What is considered safe can later be deemed a hazard (e.g., soft bedding and sudden infant death syndrome).

To add to the mayhem, models turn over rapidly; the stroller we purchased last year is already obsolete. Even after a particular item is chosen, this does not mean it is available to take home immediately. For example, obtaining our crib meant a Matson wait of more than a month.

It is so complicated to determine which goods newborns truly require that entire books have been dedicated to the subject. Other parents are helpful to a point, but every infant is unique. One may love the portable swing, another can't stand it, and no one knows what your little one will prefer.

Cut through the clutter by remembering what our pediatrician told us, "Babies do four things at this stage: Eat, poop, sleep and cry." If something helps the newborn accomplish one of the first three and reduces the frequency of the latter, place it on the registry. All else is optional.

Yet even among the must-haves, the choices are staggering. Take, for example, the stroller. There are types that fit triplets, seats that face backward, adjustable handles, rain covers, shock absorbers, one-hand folds, cup holders, and even headphone pockets.

It is no wonder that my pregnant friend, also a first-time parent, told me that her recent visit to the store was so overwhelming that she left without buying a thing.

The good news is that each time my husband and I go shopping, we become a bit more familiar with the baby gear. After our daughter was born, what she truly needed became so much clearer. It still continues to be a guessing game for certain items (e.g., will she prefer the rubber-spouted, color-changing and/or two-handled sippy cup?). However, this month our experience browsing the baby store was tangibly different.

"It's nice to finally feel that we are at least familiar with this stuff," my husband commented, pushing the double-wheeled, canopied, reclining stroller as fluidly as if he had done so his entire life.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing," I replied. Later I would outfit our daughter in her onesie — snap, snap, snap! — and recall that I once did not know what a onesie was.

Monica Quock Chan is a freelance writer who lives in Honolulu with her husband and daughter.