Yesterday, I had one of those moments it seems all first time parents have when the due date nears.

“This baby could theoretically be here any minute,” I said, leaving a message on Andy’s work voice mail. “We’re not ready! We’re NOT READY. Not by a long shot!”

I was too anxious to be alone in the apartment after I hung up and awaited Andy’s call. The answer was to head out in search of baby stuff.

Not bold enough to brave Buy Buy Baby, I decided to stick closer to home. I made my way to the cute baby store on Atlantic Avenue, where, pre-pregnancy, I’d bought presents for other people’s babies. It had green and purple walls and claimed to cater to “hip Brooklyn moms and babies.” While the only things I’d ever bought there were hipster baby clothes in the vein of baby-size “Brooklyn” hoodies, I recalled seeing strollers and activity mats in the window, so I figured there was gear to be had.

“Wow, you look like you’re about to pop,” a gravelly voice boomed as I entered. It was coming from a petite woman in a blue camo tank top sitting behind the counter. A red bandanna sat kerchief-like around her head.

“Yeah,” I said. “Feels like it, too.”

“Well,” she said, gesturing toward a plastic stool in front of her, “you should definitely sit down then.” She had a bunch of black gummy bracelets on her arm, the kind I wore in eighth grade to emulate Madonna’s look in her “Borderline” video.

“Thanks,” I said. As I took my seat, the woman reached out her braceleted arm to shake my hand and said, “I’m Marissa, the owner.”

I introduced myself, and she said, “Do you live in the neighborhood?” When I nodded and said, “Carroll Gardens,” she said, “Great. We do a bunch of new mommy things here. We have a new mommy’s group that meets on Tuesdays, mommy and baby yoga on Wednesdays, and we facilitate the mommy and baby movie matinees on Court Street on Thursdays. Then, when the baby’s a little bit older, we have music classes on Mondays and Fridays.”

I processed this information and realized that Marissa had mentioned activities for every day of the week. I’d thought having a baby would be the end of my social life, but it seemed that after giving birth I could have an even fuller calendar. I said something to this effect to Marissa.

She said, “Honey, you don’t know the half of it. This neighborhood has the highest number of residents per capita under the age of 2 in the city.” When I raised my eyebrows, she said, “Trust me, I know,” in a way that left no doubt I should trust her. And, given the fact that there were strollers everywhere, this statistic did seem plausible. But before I had time to ponder it further, Marissa continued.

“And every month we offer baby CPR classes and infant massage seminars,” she said.

I was thinking, “Baby CPR?” but said, “Wow, you’re a real community resource.”

“When I had my son three years ago,” she said, “there was, like, nothing for new moms in this neighborhood – just one high-end baby store on Smith where the owner is a total meanie. So when I opened, I decided to try to have and do everything I wished was available when I was a first time new mommy.” I nodded; it made sense. Plus, a bunch of moms and babies coming in daily surely didn’t hurt business.

“So what can I help you with today?” Marissa asked, planting her palms down on the counter.

“Well,” I said, realizing that my anxiety had already quelled some, “I was wondering what, if anything, I need to have on hand when the baby gets here?”

“Do you have a car seat?” she asked, and I nodded – my aunt had bought us the one on our registry, along with the folding wheel attachment that converted it to a stroller. “What about a Baby Bjorn?” When I told her my sister-in-law had offered me hers, Marissa raised an eyebrow. “Is it the model with the back support? Because, if not, it’s not even worth trying.” Leaving her perch at the counter, she grabbed a boxed Baby Bjorn off a nearby shelf. “Trust me,” she said. “You want this.”

“Now what else do you need right away?” she said, drumming her fingernails. “It’s summer, so you don’t need bunting. But in the fall, you’ll want one of these,” she said, producing a sleeping bag-like thing in a plastic covering. “You don’t want one of those cheap-o brands they sell at Buy Buy Baby, trust me.” Noticing the $120 price tag on the sleeping bag thing, I said, “I think we can wait a while on this,” then placed it on the floor beside me. But Marissa, now deep in thought, continued making her way around the store finding various baby items. She handed me a bottle of “Gripe Water” and said, “Trust me, this is the best for colic.” She handed me a “Miracle Blanket” and said, “Trust me, this is the best for swaddling.”

Not too many products later, I realized that, camo tank top, gummy bracelets and all, Marissa was a distinctively bossy, take-you-under-their wing, been-there-done-that mommy type. In my grandmother’s Brooklyn, she would have been a yenta. But in mine, she was a hipster mamele. The kerchief was her babushka.

As Marissa rang up my purchases, I realized she was something else, too: a darn good saleswoman.

“So I’ll see you back here when the baby’s born?” she said, handing me my credit card receipt to sign. “Maybe at the new mommies group?”

“I have a feeling you will,” I said. She had me right where she wanted me.

The Brooklyn Chronicles, a work of fiction, appears each Friday. Previous installments are available at www.nysun.com/archive_chronicles.php. The author can be reached at kschwartz@nysun.com.