Buy the six-month size

Nothing, except that everyone else bought it too, and the baby will wear it for about two weeks. That observation runs all through these conversations, mostly from parents describing a drawer of newborn clothes still with the tags on. Babies grow out of newborn and three-month sizes fast, some are born already too big for them, and because the newborn outfit is the one every guest reaches for, the family ends up with more tiny clothes than any baby could wear and nothing for the months that follow. So the accounts' first rule is to buy bigger: six-month, nine-month, even twelve- or eighteen-month sizes, which one parent describes as the gift that was actually useful because that far ahead is where the gap is. The second rule follows from the first and trips people up: if you buy for a future size, buy for the season the baby will be that size in. A summer baby is six months old in winter; a swimsuit in that size is a nice thought and a wasted one. Several conversations describe a seasonal mismatch as the usual way a thoughtful larger-size gift still goes unworn, and one contraindication in these conversations is simply: don't buy a winter fleece for a baby whose sixth month lands in July. Smaller practical notes from the accounts, if you're buying clothes at all: zips beat snaps at three in the morning; plain sleep-and-play suits get worn where cute outfits don't; footed pyjamas make nappy changes harder and hats are barely worn indoors, so don't lead with either; newborns don't need shoes, and the expensive pairs sit in a box. Choose colours that could go to a sibling of either sex or be passed on — several accounts mention this specifically for the big items like car seats and strollers, which are bought once. And the honest dissent, carried in the third question: some babies stay small, and the size-up rule fails them.

The boring things, and something for the parents. On the boring things, the accounts speak from the exhausted end of the first months: nappies and wipes are a gift the accounts say parents are glad of, because they are used all day, never outgrown as a category, and every box saves a shop run by someone who hasn't slept. The one refinement the accounts add is size again — skip the newborn size, which several parents say was outgrown before the baby left the hospital, and go for the next sizes up, with one person suggesting the family stockpile a range of brands early on because they fit differently and a cheaper brand can suit a baby as well as a premium one. Ask first whether the family uses cloth, in which case disposable boxes miss the mark; a caveat in these conversations is not to assume a brand, since the wrong one can cause a rash. Wipes are appreciated alongside them in quantity. Beyond that, the registry is the accounts' answer to almost every question: expectant parents have already worked out what they need, several conversations say strict registry-following avoids the bulky, unreturnable duplicates, and the items on it that look dull — extra mattress protectors, a spare car-seat base, plain gauze cloths that double as burp rags and swaddles — are, three separate conversations report, the ones that get used daily. Small useful things parents forget to buy come up across several conversations: baby nail clippers, a bath thermometer, outlet covers, a long phone-charging cable for the hospital, infant paracetamol for later, a tiny screwdriver set for toy batteries. If you'd rather give money, a gift card to the shop the family already uses, or a food-delivery card for a service they already have, is the accounts' safest option — one person notes to check that the card pays for a whole household meal. Then the parents. Three separate conversations insist on something for the mother that has nothing to do with the baby — bath things, chocolate, a robe, slippers, a large water bottle, earplugs — as a reminder that she is still a person; one account pairs soft pyjamas for the parent with a baby-sized set one or two sizes up, so it lasts. And the most valued gift in the accounts that received it costs no money at all: food and time. Frozen meals that can be eaten one-handed, a cooked dinner in the first month, a coupon book of specific offers — laundry, a grocery run, two hours of holding the baby so someone can sleep — rather than the general 'let me know if you need anything', which two conversations say goes unused. One contraindication for visitors is worth its own line: don't sit and be hosted, and don't take the baby during the nap that is the parent's only sleep. Do a load of dishes and leave.

There are, and the conversations argue about this one honestly enough that it doesn't render as a clean rule. Some babies arrive early or small, and stay in newborn sizes for weeks or months; if every guest follows the size-up advice, those parents can find themselves with a drawer of nine-month clothes and nothing that fits today. Several accounts make this point, and one reasonable position in the conversations is that the size-up rule is a good default and a bad law — if you know the baby was early or small, or you can see the registry asking for newborn sizes, believe that over this page. Storage is the other quiet exception: in a small flat, three boxes of size-three nappies for a baby who is a month old are a wall of cardboard for half a year, which one person notes as the downside of the very advice above; a card or a promise to bring the boxes later solves it. Two smaller things, for completeness. Toys: babies, one account observes, love the loud, obnoxious ones adults hate, so if you must, one parent's trick is clear tape over the speaker; avoid cheap unbranded toys from marketplaces, which a contraindication here flags for safety, and put good batteries in. And the sentimental gift several people mention: a bottle of something to be opened on the child's eighteenth or twenty-first birthday, bought in the year they were born — a keepsake rather than a useful thing, and the accounts are clear that it's a nice extra, not a substitute for the nappies. One more idea from a single account, for a group: a gathering where guests bring a box of nappies each, in a spread of sizes, which can stock a family for a year. Whatever you choose, tape the gift receipt to the box; one person's rule, and it makes every gift on this page exchangeable for the size or brand that turns out to be right.