Birthday Reins: What's Not to Give?

Right now it's not what to buy my daughter for her third birthday that's keeping me awake at night, it's what not to buy. There are one hundred and eight items on my shortlist - make that my longlist - which I know she would love and I could, at a push, buy them all. There's the Barbie Talking Townhouse (a little bit Nash, a little bit sugar plum fairy); there's the Disney Princesses pop-up hideaway castle; there's the sky blue tutu at Gandolphi; the pink plastic vanity table and matching stool; the rose gold charm bracelet with the stiletto and the taxi charms; the guffawing incredible hulk supersize boxing gloves; the Hello Kitty suitcase; the heart shaped wicker sewing basket lined in blue checks; the trike, the stabiliser bike, the miniature pale pink grand piano I glimpsed in the Faubourg St Honore; the red flamenco dress with white polka dots that I've only seen in my imagination...But I'm not stupid. I can see that (for her) an obscene amount of presents will be less satisfying than a moderately good haul. It has not escaped my notice that Christmas is round the corner either. Yet I keep having the fantasy of a trailer arriving, before the clown, on her birthday morn and men in white coats unloading parcel after parcel.

It's you who need the men in white coats, my husband says.
Children only feel spoilt if they are given material goods instead of love, I argue. Surely vast amounts of gifts when there are generally good parental boundaries as well as an endless stream of cuddles, cannot really do much harm. And what is more festive than excess?
My husband smiles his smile. It's an open secret that it's my impecunious three year old self I'm really shopping for, but is that so very wrong?

I once saw an advertisement for diamond engagement rings that suggested a man should spend a month's salary on this most important of love tokens. Why will no-one tell me what the going rate is for little girls?

Thinking of a friend of mine who recently mum-shamed me by sewing her daughter a deluxe Snow White costume complete with reversible cloak and detachable white collar I decide to stick some copies of Mary's nicest baby photographs in a child sized album for her because she loves looking at them. Then I mail order a pink linen wendy house with appliqued daisies and gingerbread men that will be a great addition to our emptyish sitting room. It has real muslin curtains at the doors and windows and will be prefect for hiding in. For a second I visualise grandchildren and shiver. Then I try to track down some pale blue ballet shoes which Mary has actually asked for. I buy a tiny pink and gold faux Sevres tea set for £17 from a tourist shop in Wardour Street. To assuage my craving for lilac plastic I allow myself one My Little Pony Ice Cream cafe which really is a little work of art and to lend a wholesome flavour to the birthday proceedings I bulk buy thirty metres of gingham bunting. Then I call it a day. Thank God for Christmas.