The Not-Uncomfortable Baby Shower

I know. The title of this post is a double negative. I know what this means in writing terms. I am aware of what I am doing. At least-I am aware of what I am doing right here, right now. Ask me again in five minutes and my mind may have wandered to some far-off place that is filled with baby anxiety, onesies and tiny socks.

Anywho-I want to address the title as both a double negative in writing terms but a title that is a positive point to my weekend. Let’s add up these positive points:

(1) There were no tiny sandwiches and I bought huge paper plates. (3 points, plus 10 bonus points). This allowed me to eat A LOT.
(2) There were both men and women involved, allowing for easy conversations and a party atmosphere. (5 points)
(3) There was a lot of leftover food-which I am still munching on. (4 points)
(4) It was at my house where I feel most comfortable using the bathroom ten gazillion times. (7 points).
(5) My parents, friends and family all chipped in and helped to pull off this large event. (17 points)

(6) People either lied to me or they did really have a good time. Even the ones that were hoodwinked by their female spouses to attend a “19th century lecture on Russian politics”, only to find out it was a baby shower. (3 points for hoodwink creativity, 5 points for the husband not holding a grudge to the hoodwinker).
(7) The food “made up” for being hoodwinked by aforementioned person. (2 points)
(8) There were no awkward baby shower games. (100 points)

(9) I got to see so many people I care about in one blow, opening up my calendar for the next month.
(18 points plus 2 points for not feeling guilty about this fact).
(10) I didn’t wear shoes-the whole night. (60 points).

That comes up to a grand total of….anyone have a calculator and a non-prego brain? Please answer below.

I loathe baby showers…

I have been subjected to (tortured at) many a shower. Whether it’s a bridal or baby, it’s all the same to me. You are cornered in a room full of people you don’t know, eating on tiny plates and talking about the only thing you have in common-the host.

 

Men don’t realize this, but as a woman, you are subjected to all sorts of horrors–disguised in pink and yellow decor, along with mandated group responses of “oohs and ahhs” for the 10th time over a pair of tiny socks. AND-you must play games like “sniff the diaper”, and pretend you are having a great time.

All I want to do is pile my plate really high with more food, take off my high heels and laugh (snort) with someone that thinks Nacho Libre is one of the best cinematic presentations ever.

However, I’m usually wedged in between Aunt Ethel and Grandma Betty and the last movie they viewed at the “movie house” involved Robert Redford’s first starring role. So, I sit back and relax and carefully dip my celery stick into the unnamed dip. And I try to go unnoticed as I pick that horrible celery stringy thing from my teeth.

So, that’s why I did this.

This is our baby shower invitation. And it has received mixed reviews. (As do most things that I put out there for the world to see.)

I will promise you this-there will be no games at our baby shower. There will be no sniffing of diapers. No clothes pins. No pacifier exchange. No frou-frou decor.

But, there will be food-and lots of it-on giant plates. There will also be men present at our Co-Ed shower. There will be no belly measuring, no guessing of the baby names, and no forced oohing and ahhing.

Is that wrong?

Baby & Nursery Preparedness on a Budget

Apparently, there is a lot to do to prepare for the birth of your first. Little did I know the path we were on when we first found out we were with child.

Here are a few things I never saw coming and to be honest, slightly blindsided me:

1. I would have to buy stretchy pants-like really insane, elastic stretchy pants.
2. I would be using cocoa butter religiously (and the smell always makes me want cookies) on my ever increasing belly.
3. People would touch my stomach. These are people I don’t know and people I do know and people I wish I didn’t know.
4. I would develop a strange brown “racing stripe” down the center of my stomach.
5. I would actually find baby clothes with tiny animals on them-cute.

However, these are minor things to adjust to compared to preparing a nursery for this tiny lad/lass. I’ve always thought, “Give the kid a dresser drawer to sleep in, some milk to drink and a clean diaper. Call it done.”

But….

…then I start to imagine what kind of a sweet setup I could give to the wee little one, without spending all of their college tuition on a silly room they’ll never remember. (HAH! Like we’re paying for your college! Get a job! Cut your hair!).

With my imaginings, I lay awake at night and plot my grandiose nursery plan. The next morning, I start creating things out of almost nothings. Here’s the beginning of the wall decor for the nursery. I will share a tutorial on this as soon as it’s finished and I make sure the project is actually doable.

The mobile to hang over the crib came after much deliberation between Biceps and I. We settled on a concept-with which I will share soon. All I needed was some stuffing, some felt, some more paper mache know-how, and a few coat hangers.

PS-Is that felt? Well, it is now!

Something you must know about me-I hate curtains. Number one: the cats love to destroy them. Number two: they are stinking expensive. Number three: there are never any store-bought curtains that Biceps and I can agree on.

However, when the dollar spent is low enough, Biceps will like almost anything. Enter cheap, heavy duty drop cloths and a little Rebekah-whimsy. This too will be a tutorial I will share-as soon as it’s done. Patience, grasshopper.

And lastly, I must introduce some sort of wooden feature into this baby’s room. Why? Because it brings warmth, it reminds one of nature and of God’s creation…and it’s also inexpensive.

So, maybe this kid will get more than a dresser drawer to sleep in-but they aren’t going to be spoiled, that’s for sure. We all have to make sacrifices, kiddo. And, if I have to wear stretchy pants that sag down to my knees by the end of the day, you can pretend to like your room. Deal?