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

[ravenrigan.livejournal.com]

You are all braver women than I. I have the maternal instinct of a cuckoo, and for me the menopause was little short of a blessed releif that mums and mums to be could no longer look at me with pity because I hadn't yet joined the club.

Yesterday we went to parents in law and were expected to squee dutifully over Bruv in law's new baby and their PiL's new pussycat. It was a very nice pussycat, looked like part Maine Coone. The baby was sticky and spitty, but managed to be the centre of attention for all that. It's a complete mystery to me.

I am going to grow into a lonely old lady with far too many cats, and a wardrobe full of purple and red hats, and I'm proud of it.

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

Move over sister, you won't be alone. All the cakes and nurseries in the world won't ever persuade me into motherhood. I'd prefer a house full of cats and dogs - that's just the way I roll!