With my birthday and - dare I say it - Christmas coming up, Steve and the ultra-grown ups* in my life are asking me for wishlists.
My wishlists are empty.
No, not empty. Not all of them. My "Matilda" wishlist is overflowing with vaguely seasonal books, wooden houses and clothes which look like they're made out of leaves.
My Sarah wishlists have a couple of parenting books on them. But I don't want parenting books for my birthday; I want things which are for me-as-an-individual rather than me-in-relation-to-my-child.
But I don't really know what that is.
There are only so many books about hygge a blogger needs and I already have three pairs of slippers, more mugs than I can fit in the cupboard and a filing cabinet full of craft supplies which I only ever use with my child. I don't like candles or toiletries (thanks, perfume allergy) and I'm not big on chocolate (she says, eating half a packet of chocolate chip digestives).
Since having Matilda, I've no idea what size of clothes I wear. My to-read pile is ridiculous. I don't want a spa treatment and I assume anyone who gifts handmade babysitting vouchers is going to be so infuriatingly smug about doing somebody a favour (whilst posting lots of unauthorised photos of my child on Facebook) that it wouldn't be worth the hassle to accept.
To top it off, Steve and I are on a strict £30 budget this year (and that includes our gift from Matilda) so there's no cop out "I had no inspiration so here's some expensive, shiny tech" fallback plan.
I always thought I was easy to buy for - I was easy to buy for - but I've reached the point where I don't want any more stuff.
I feel like my life has achieved that elusive calm/clutter balance; it wouldn't take many garish vintage teapots to tip me over into "gaaaaaah, I need another clear out" territory and I always feel so awkward trying to sweet talk friends into driving all my junk to the charity shop.
On the other hand, I do want presents. That childish need to open something exciting on Christmas morning is still there.
I know: what a problem to have - "Nice people want to buy me things! Waaaaaaaaaaah!" But if people are going to give me presents (and they are going to give me presents; I've tried banning them in the past and was utterly ignored), I want to be happy with whatever they've gone ahead and spent their money on.
So help me, oh internet blog world of rampant consumerism: what should I write on this list?
*at least 16 years older than me
See also: Learning to love low key Christmases.