It's shocking how little your new baby needs.

By way of introducing our subject--providing for the material needs of a baby--a caveat: Whatever it is, you don't need it.

In other words, do as I say, not as I've done. It is permissible, I believe, to shop like a mad dog for your first child and, when Daughter No. 1 arrived nearly two years ago, I did. But when my auxiliary daughter appeared on the scene last month, I learned not one lesson from the mistakes of previous rampages.

A sort of shopping psychosis overtakes the mind of a father fresh from the delivery room. It might be rooted in some sort of primal hunter-gatherer-type urge, the kind that afflicts most men when they enter a Price Club ("Of course we need 24 gallons of WD-40, honey. You never know when they're going to stop making it"). Conquer this urge, and you may graduate the first month of parenthood without fielding a call from an American Express security officer worried about "unusual activity" on your card.

Here, then, a quick guide to what you need and what you don't. This is, obviously, a subjective guide written by the kind of flawed individual who actually considered buying an electric baby wipe warmer. It is also the briefest of guides--each subcategory of baby products is worthy of book-length discussion. Finally, it is utilitarian: If you are the sort of person who must have a Kate Spade diaper bag knowing full well that a Kate Spade diaper bag is a waste of $250, I can't help you.

Diapers: Diaper bags are a good place to start, since they are unnecessary: A $20 knapsack and a $2 dry-down--an absorbent, washable pad--are perfectly sufficient substitutes. Diapers are, however, necessary, and I would suggest as a first step the purchase of Price Club diapers, which come in huge cartons and cost about 25 percent less than the equivalent number of Pampers. Warehouse club diapers aren't as handsome or sturdy-looking as "premium" or "supreme" diapers, but even standard diapers today can absorb the contents of a camel's hump without leaking. Avoid "premium" diapers that contain emollients or aloe vera, which don't transfer to the baby's skin. The only diaper worth paying a premium price for is one that changes itself.

There is no downside (this pun was genuinely unintended) to Price Club baby wipes, whose very inferiority make them a better product. Most premium brands--Huggies, Pampers, and the like--are soaked to an absurd degree with whatever strange chemical cleansers all wipes are soaked in. Price Club wipes, however, are packaged with more modest amounts of cleansing liquid, presumably to save the manufacturer money. Which is fine, because wipes that are too wet must then be followed up with several dry-cloth swipes, which can irritate the skin. As for electric baby wipe warmers, one of which, in my local high-end baby superstore Buy Buy Baby (awful names are a hazard of this trade) sold for $24.99, I have this to say: As much as I want my children to be sheltered from the cruelties of life on earth, I think they should get used to the fact that sometimes their asses will get cold.

One more note, as we leave the diaper department: An indispensable purchase is a Diaper Genie, a brilliant little contraption that is a vast improvement over the open diaper pail. A Diaper Genie (which generally sells for around $25) accepts dirty diapers through a hole on top, and with a few twists of a canister, seals the diapers in plastic and eliminates most of the smell. It does not provide Level 4 biohazard containment--ignore the optimistic "odor-free" claim made on the box--but it will do in most cases.

Clothing: Even if you are only moderately popular and come from a modestly sized family, you will receive, on the birth of your first child, at least $500 worth of Baby Gap clothing. (Which means that a gift of Gap stock, rather than Gap clothing, should be far more welcome.) There are those who decry the style hegemony of Baby Gap, but I am not one of them. The clothing is relatively inexpensive, durable, and returnable. The point is this: There are plenty of places to dump $100 on a pair of awfully cute baby overalls that will be worn exactly three times, but $100 baby overalls, like subzero freezers and Land Rovers, are a sign that you have too much money.

Car safety: On issues of child safety, I take the SDI position, which is to say, there is no such thing as too much defense spending. Hence the Ford Explorer parked outside, which I would upgrade to an Expedition except that I live in a neighborhood filled with Naderite public interest lawyers who would firebomb my house if I drove anything so offensive.

Two tons of metal are not enough to defend your children, however. A maximalist position on safety means only one car seat will do, the Britax. It is more expensive than the run-of-the-mill Century line of car seats (a Britax runs above $200), but it is made of material so hard it would crack your knee if you walked into it, and its belting system is far more encompassing and elaborate than the average car seat's.