April Showers

Why do they call it a shower, I wonder?

 

Obviously, the guest is showered with gifts and love.  But the guest could also be said to be flooded with gifts and love, or buried with gifts and love, or absolutely knocked out with gifts and love.  Why don’t they call it a knockout?

 

We were knocked out three times for this baby boy, and I am humbled and thankful for each one.  As we face another unexpected and fairly expensive car repair (**dear God, please stop sending us unexpected and fairly expensive costs this year so that we can start a savings account for the purpose of dealing with unexpected and fairly expensive costs, thank you, Amen), I survey the baby’s room, stocked now with virtually everything we need by the generosity of our stacks and stacks of friends and family, and my hormonal self wants to weep with relief.  Our catalytic converter may be failing, but by god, our baby will have diapers!  And a crib mattress!  And an under the sea mobile!  So many people have said (as I fret about the extra costs a baby brings) – don’t worry about the money, honey, the money will come.  What they didn’t say is that it comes from the wallets of the people you love, who are often in no better financial shape than you but still turn their pockets inside out in response to your need.

 

Our Irish Shower, thrown by Patrick’s hometown family of friends, is described here.  The decorations were green, the blessings were flying thick and fast, the hostesses wore the prettiest fresh spring outfits, the food was decadent and cute – I mean, peeps-on-a-nest?  Who thought of that?  I love that it hailed very dramatically during my baby shower.  I love that my mother and baby sister attended, even though it meant an eight hour drive.  I love that Patrick was sort of there, by means of the magic of webcams and Skype, and that his parents dragged the family heirloom cradle to the party to give to us, and even had linens custom made for it.  I love that we all went out afterwards and got to talk and get drunk on O’Douls and good conversation.  I especially loved the light and airy cake with chocolate frosting and fresh strawberries.  OMG, it was delightful.

 

Our Baby Luau, thrown by my sister Amanda and our friends Vern and Michelle, was last weekend.  Manda decided that since Jack’s nursery is Under the Sea themed, it stood to reason that we should have a sea-themed shower – and that morphed into a faux-seaside luau cookout (which later morphed into a cook-in due to literal April showers.)  She bought out Party City’s supply of Hawaiian leis and blanketed Vern and Michelle’s house with them.  Even their dog, a sweet tempered Australian shepherd named Sheila, was not spared, and she gamely bore the burden of a blue lei the whole length of the party.  I myself suffered the humiliation of a coconut bra, but luckily the grass skirt was too small.  The luau menu sported a huge bowl of rum punch and a slightly smaller bowl of non-rum punch for me; a shredded pork barbecue that slow-cooked for something like 20 hours and tasted like angels crying on your tongue; a Hawaiian yam-and-lentil confection that seemed to reproduce as we ate it, kind of like Tribbles, and was threatening a hostile takeover of the hosts’ kitchen; my sister’s boyfriend’s Famous Cheese Ball which makes me want to take him home and set him up as my personal chef; fruit kabobs with pineapple mango mush stuff that was, again, divine; and a coconut cake that I think I had about 3 pieces of.  Mmmmmm.  (*How To Tell A Woman Is Pregnant, Tip # 7 – she describes <and rates> parties in terms of the food).

 

My mother and my middle sister attended this one, again driving 8 hours to be there, and what a mom, am I right?  My sister-in-law and brother-in-law attended as well, high on the "fumes" of their own fledgling pregnancy and hungrily eating up all the details of what was in store for them.  After arriving and piling up my first plate of many, we all gathered in the living room and one of the girls declared herself the Baby Shower Game Nazi and began a series of games, including "name that baby animal," "write some advice for the baby using these (suggestive) candy names," and "match the word baby to the language it comes from."  The games were a lot of fun, and the band guys kept it interesting by answering all of the questions in the vein of immature and raunchy fifteen year olds.  They cracked themselves up coming up with their answers, though when it was time to share they glanced at my mom and wisely decided to self-censor.  I saved the answers.  When Jack is a raunchy and immature 25 year old I may decide to share them with him.

 

After that we opened our presents.  We got some more wonderful stuff here, including diapers and wipes (much needed!), hand-knitted baby booties, a rocking horse that neighs and shakes his tail, our diaper pail, a bottle drying rack, PIRATE ONESIES – ARGGHHH matey, and lots of clothes and books and fun stuff (including two mixes on CD for Jack, both of which we have listened to lots already!)  I had been fretting over the lack of books on Jack’s tiny bookshelf, but now it’s overflowing, as it should be.  After present opening, we hung around and ate some more, and chatted, and enjoyed the tropical paper toothpick umbrellas and the leis and more yams, and I went through all my loot again.  Then we drove home in the drizzle, and spent the rest of the evening watching a movie and eating pizza and hanging out in our p.j.s. – Mom, Caki, Patrick, Erin, Clif, Koa, Virgil, Bella, and I.

 

The Money Tree Shower was our final one, thrown by my work mates in the conference room here at work.  I was barred from the room until 5pm on the nose, when Patrick arrived from home.  I was given a corsage made of a yellow rose with a stuffed tropical fish stuck to the front of it – very cute – and Patrick pinned it on before we walked down the hall.  When I stepped into the room . . . what a sight!  Glittering foil fish hung from the ceiling on paper streamers – three tables piled with food were lined up along the wall – a fourth table was piled high with gifts -and in the middle of it all stood a six foot tall limb cut from a blooming tree.  The girls had strung it with twinkle lights and tiny baby trinkets, and had used binder clips to hang on fistfuls of $1, $5, and $20 bills.  An actual money tree of my very own!  I was totally floored.  It was the neatest idea.

 

I hugged everyone and Patrick oohed and ahhed over the decorations, and then we piled on more party food which this time included a Crock Pot of beanies and weenies (one of Patrick’s favorite foods, how did they know?); a bread bowl with spinach artichoke dip; veggie and fruit trays; yummy blue fruit punch; and cake squares, each with a tiny blue frosting baby bootie dabbed in the center.  Since most people were rotating either in or out of their shifts at this time, we lost no time diving right into the gifts, which included a travel changing pad WITH FISH ON IT how cute augh, a fish piggy bank with Jack’s name on it, a diaper cake (have you seen these?  they are too hilarious), a first aid kit, hand knitted blankets and baby sweaters, lots of clothes, bibs, and books, and tons of money.  They had taken a collection out on the floor, and my people were generous to me.  One of my beloved maintenance crew (remember the guys who gave me a tool box for my wedding?) gave us two $100 bills.  Two of them.  I nearly fell over.  Everyone else’s money was either on the tree or collected in a card, and when we added up the total later that evening, we discovered that it will buy us our breast pump, bottles, changing table pad, baby carrier, infant stroller frame, and cloth diapers, and perhaps leave a little to spare for some more books.  We aren’t going to be stuck without anything vital and we definitely aren’t hurting for bibs at this point.  Jack has been spoiled, and so have we, and I’m a lucky, lucky mommy today.

 

This spring we’ve had rain showers, which have aided and nearly ended our drought, made our fields green and our trees pop, and made it a glorious Carolina spring.  We’ve had baby showers, which have helped us set ourselves up to bring home our new baby boy and raise him these first few months in comfort and safety, and with matching bed linens to boot!  I am soaked to the skin, literally and figuratively, and now that we have had our last party and are about to purchase our last few nursery necessaries, all I have to say is – bring him on.

 

Seriously though.  Any time now.  Early’s fine.  He’s full term already at this point.  So. You know.  Whenever.  Is good.