Saturday afternoon I found myself in the car heading towards a babyshower. A friend called me on the way. “You’re going where??” she asked. Her tone sounded the same way my mother’s had once when I went to watch Mexican midgets wrestling. “A babyshower.” I repeated calmly. What was the big deal? I have friends, they have babies; of course I’d be invited to their babyshowers. Except, I’d never been to one until now.
Upon arriving at shower (what does that mean anyway? a shower? why not just call it a baby party or a pregnancy pow-wow? because ‘shower’ just conjures up images of rushing water, which conjures images of things flowing, which lands me in that bad place where I’m thinking about the baby popping out on a stream of placenta. yelck.) But enough about that…Upon arriving at the shower, I immediately felt out of my element. There was a cake made out of diapers and people were talking about it in a way that let me know I was alone in this adventure. Somehow I’ve been shopping at the wrong stores because the other women had seen this diaper-cake-thing before. I contained myself, but let me be honest here. A cake made out of diapers? It was neat.
I mingled with the other women (mommy, mommy, pregnant, mommy) and tried to make conversation. I did pretty well I think except for this one moment when I forgot that I was the lone orangatang in a shower full of mama bears. A woman had just told this lovely story about how she fell in love and married her high school sweetheart. She made a joke afterwards about how it snuck up on her. “Like a venereal disease.” I teased. The record skipped, the table fell silent, and the woman slowly backed away from me. Shit! Shit! Shit! Why had I said that? They probably thought I meant me. Like I caught venereal diseases. Monday – venereal disease. Tuesday – the clinic. I opened and closed my mouth several times, but in the end I said nothing. The shower had taken a downward spiral and it was all my fault.
The gift part came next and I must say, as I watched the 8 1/2 month pregnant woman open her gifts, she really was glowing. She looked absolutely fantastic. She was even wearing white jeans, which we all know can be quite unflattering. She looked great in them; I checked out her bottom and it was the same size as before. Some women have all the luck. But back to the presents…I’ll be frank here, the presents sucked. Receiving blankets, stuffed things, walkie talkies, and tiny booties are not my idea of a good present. I gave books in case you’re wondering, which in my estimation are worth as much as gold.
When I have a babyshower, I’m registering for a large Hermes bag and I’m going to trick everyone into thinking I want it for carrying diapers or something. I’ll ask everyone to contribute and when the baby comes I show him/her the bag and say thank you. Thank you, baby for such lovely, leather craftsmanship.
On the whole though, I dug the babyshower. It reminded me a lot of a bachelorette party without the phallic symbols and the naked policeman. I’m ready for my next one already. And next time I’ll know; never say venereal and don’t act like a country bumpkin about the diaper-cake-thing.