Oestrogen crescendo
Sep. 27th, 2009 08:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootSo 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![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
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!
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!
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no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 12:08 pm (UTC)I think I'm going to need a little more context on this one...
A pistol that fires breast milk ?
A kind of spooky suction cup affair that you can fire at the boobs of tyour arch enemy causing them mild discomfort and severe confusion ?
Just a breast pump that's built from polished brass and copper fittings ?
Does they need fitting to the individual's breasts ?
If so, erm, who's boobs do I need to become professionally acquainted with ?
no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 01:27 pm (UTC)http://www.easyexpressionproducts.com/
no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 01:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 02:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 04:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 10:59 pm (UTC)