The [dreaded] shower

I’m supposed to be a glowing, basketball-bellied, excited mama to be. I’m supposed to be giddy and giggling and have ants in my pants about the unknown. I’m supposed to complain about how much weight I’m gaining, worrying about stretch marks and pooping on the delivery table (some baby magazine said that was the #1 concern of 64% of expectant mothers in one poll!) and oh, how annoying it is to be pregnant. I would say I’m about 50% those things and 50% completely different things. Being pregnant for 7 months and giving birth to a perfect little boy who just happened to not be alive will do that to you next time around I suppose. In fact, 50% might be pretty good, all things considered!

So, I may be wary, nervous, and feel at times like an absolute worry wort (wart?). I may have sad memories and awful predictions as compared to other lucky, naïve moms-to-be. I may get mad that I have to think this way. But one real kicker, really kicking me when I’m down, is: the baby shower. The dreaded shower. Really. Oy. What could be more awful than sitting around with a bunch of ladies, drinking tea, eating decadent snacks, having people fawn all over you, and opening baby presents?

 If it doesn’t sound that bad it’s because it’s not. I mean, people love showers. Especially the people who throw them. So I feel terrible warning people they better not try to throw me a shower—or else. Capital ELSE. I couldn’t take it. I can hardly stand it anyway, being anti-social and uncomfortable in groups, but celebrating something I don’t even have yet seems to be asking for a big slap in the face. And what if I have to pack those presents away because Baby#2 can’t use ‘em? What if I have all these cute photos from the shower and I just end up wanting to rip them to shreds to erase the memories? It’s so totally unfair that this is my point of view, but it is. Alas. I can’t do it. I will have to eat bonbons and buy things by myself. The real pain though is that I feel guilty. People want to throw me a party. They want to buy presents. They want to be a part of this difficult time in my life. Those are not bad things. And I have to push them away and say no. It’s terrible. But this Average Josephine is bucking tradition for the sake of her sanity. You can send me a present later, ok?