Oestrogen crescendo

[smokingboot]

So I went to the baby shower.

And there was much trepidation.

Mum to be is bright, beautiful and fearsomely organised.

We saw the baby room which will also be her office: No uber pinkness, but walls decorated with blue and brown butterflies, mini-hangers bearing teeny designer jeans and pretty dresses, a white wood chest decorated with blue seashell patterns, mountains of fluffed up cushions, a massive cot with some kind of strange apparatus projecting stars onto the wall directly above baby's bed...I think music's involved too, but I'm not sure cos I was dizzy by then.

It's not a chintzy room, not kitsch or twee, but it was still terrifying in a classy girly way. There were long woven wood containers bearing four different kinds of wet wipes, aloe and chamomile, aloe and uh, I don't know, puppy essence, judging by the picture on the front, wet wipes for sensitive skins and wet wipes for ultrasensitive skins. When zombies attack and I poop myself, I know where to run to...

And then there was the baby shower itself, with the added side theme of a pudding party. Oh dear. I can usually make a decent apple and blackberry crumble, with larians help. Why then did this particular attempt choose this particular day to earn its name so vehemently?

I mean, I'm not competitive about cooking but I winced with embarrassment when I saw everyone else's contributions, cheeese scones, petits fours, cupcakes with icing faces on, marshmallow and chocolate cake, chocolate fudge cake, fruit cake, name the cake and you could find an example of it there - excepting a bunt. I was thoroughly expecting a bunt, but it never manifested. Mind you, I left early, so for all I know it appeared later. Everything was well thought out, beautifully presented, home-made with thoughts of love and gingham. And then everyone saw my effort, a psychedelic gravel gravy smelling of cinnamon. One guest couldn't help squawking 'What on earth is that?' before anyone could stop her.It was just like Home Economics at school.

Baby shower presents are scary. Nappy cakes, cribs and moses baskets and lotions and romper suits and baby shoes and breastpumps... We bought the Mum-to-be an hour of massage with the mightiest hands we know, belonging to a tiny Japanese specialist who can make your muscles relax just by looking at them funny. She does prenatal massage too, plus aromatherapy, facials, reflexology...Mum gets to choose. A nice present I hope. Not very practical, but then, neither am I.

Similar to the way I love weddings but don't care for marriages, I've decided that even if parenthood strikes me as a one way ticket to hell, I thoroughly enjoy baby showers. I like the whole specialness of a party dedicated to Parent and Baby...it reaches a kind of icing sugar peak from which one can jump in relief.

I think a steampunk breastpump/pistol would be the coolest gift ever!

Comments

[caffeine-fairy.livejournal.com]

Be warned - TMI incoming.

All clear? Good.

Pumping is a knack and takes time to get used to. If you're not relaxed and in the right frame of mind, the milk just won't come, and pumping can be really uncomfortable and frustrating. If you can manage to pump the milk, you can easily overstimulate your boobs and end up with something called "engorgement". This is every bit as horrible as it sounds.

You also have to make sure you use the pump at the right time. Boobs are unexpectedly canny and know if they're meant to be providing a feed right now, and if they suspect shenanigans, you will get nothing but a burnt out motor.

If you manage to get the pump to work and to express enough milk to feed, you are then left with the very distinct possibility that the offspring (I'm looking at mine, here) will decide "That bottle ain't a boob and I don't wanna" for many hours at a time and you will be forced to throw your hard won milk away.

Also there's the whole "Bugger me, I'm a cow" aspect which I'm not even going into.

I have known people make it work in terms of being able to dodge a feed or two, express the milk for said feed, freeze it and thus have it available, allowing them a few hours off. In practicality most of the breat pumps I know of languish in a drawer surrounded by vaguely uncomfortable feelings that it should be possible to use them in some sexual context but it all seems a bit too much like hard work.

[squeezypaws.livejournal.com]

I hear you sister. I got the fear about using the pump. I never got anything much out and it hurt and it was humiliating and I just hate the bloody things. Eight weeks I lasted before flinging it out the window.

[caffeine-fairy.livejournal.com]

There should be a roaring trade in reimagined breastpumps.

Once more I say, bytepilot?

[bytepilot.livejournal.com]

Or I could just strip it for parts and make rayguns ?

[caffeine-fairy.livejournal.com]

And inspired by your entirely adorable icon and username I have now friended you. Hope this is OK.