For those of you late to the party, I started to plan my pregnancy when I was about 12-ish years old. Does this terrify me since me own daughter is halfway to twelve? Um, YESITDOESTHANKYOUVERYMUCH.
(I even remember when a distant acquaintance of my family's found out that their thirteen-year-old daughter was pregnant. I remember because I spent the next year consumed with jealousy and maybe even < whispers > drew pictures of her with a big pregnant belly and other times holding a baby and also other times driving a convertible VW Rabbit with a baby smiling in the car seat behind her < /whispers >.)
(I know. You're scared. Please God don't let it be in the genes.)
ANYwho, I think at this point it goes without saying that I was a teensy bit ecstatic when I became pregnant at the ripe old age of 23. I still remember going straight to the book store, for they are my oldest friends, and buying every baby book they sold and then announcing to the line without being asked "I'm buying all of these because I'm pregnant. With a baby. A real one. It's inside me. So, I'm buying these books to learn. Yessirreee. Havin a baby." I'm pretty sure no one cared.
That excitement continued throughout much of the pregnancy. I didn't care that we lived in an apartment. I didn't care that we didn't have money. I didn't care that we had been married only six months and that Chris appeared a tad ashy when I happily exclaimed "I can't believe I got pregnant two weeks after I stopped taking The Pill! I didn't even know that was possible!".
To which he replied "And you said it was going to take a year" followed by a shrill little laugh. Or maybe it was a cry.
Most of all, I didn't care that I had just left my religion behind a few years earlier and therefore, my entire social network.
I was having a baby and that is all I ever wanted and now I could die happy. The End.
That is, until I was at a BBQ a few months later.
The hosts were people we only knew in passing and therefore, the majority of the guests were perfect strangers. One of them, in particular, was a rich, tan, woman with the most grating voice and noxious perfume, and enormous cleavage in which three gold necklaces dangled.
She also happened to be pregnant.
After she chattered on and on about her brokerage and her Mercedes and her sex life - each story ending in a wild cackle, she turned to me and asked "How many showers have you had?".
Everyone was staring at me.
I only had a handful of friends and most of them were my co-workers. I was going to be ecstatic if my shower attendance outnumbered the passenger capacity of my car.
At that point, however, she was only asking me as a segue to her own story.
"I've already had three!" she squealed. "My girlfriends blahblahblah limo blahblahblah Napa blahblahblah massages blahblahblah. And I'm having two more! Work blahblahblah family blahblahblah clients blaaargh."
Since it was obvious this lady was a perpetual "I swear I'm twenty-nine!" type despite being a decade past it, I wish so much that I had responded "Well, you're a lot older than I am, so I'm sure you have a lot more friends". I would have smiled sweetly and everything.
But, I wasn't blogging yet, so I wasn't nearly that quick-witted.
When she finished, she looked at me expectantly again.
"Well, I haven't had any. Yet. But, I'm sure my mom and my aunt are planning one."
I swear to God it was the only time in my life where I actually witnessed someone stifle a laugh at me.
It should come as no surprise that I bawled the entire way home.
I mean, I was rife with pregnancy hormones. Which meant I was mildly obsessed with ensuring everything was P-E-R-F-E-C-T for the baby. It seemed like suddenly things that didn't matter before took on grave meaning. (Is there any way we can fix the ozone before the baby comes? Can we get our own ground well?)
This limited friends and family thing honestly gave me pause. Who's going to love the baby? I cried to Chris. WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE AND LEAVE HER ALOOOOOONE!
I considered not even having a shower. I was so worried that no one would show up. I was so worried that something would taint this most precious experience. I was so worried that my teeny little shower would be proof that I shouldn't be having a baby yet. (I told you, I had The Pregnancy Crazy.)
All because of a big-mouthed braggy stranger*.
I purposely stayed out of the shower preparations. I purposely chose a restaurant to give the illusion that ...what? The other diners were my friends? I have no idea. I tried not to get my hopes up.
I'm happy to report that I had a lovely baby shower thanks to my pushy aunt, mother, and in-laws. Because they love me fiercely. And it was well-attended! Even My Arm and The Dumpster were there.
I'm so glad My Arm was able to make it.
What smells like corn and cheese?
So, did you have a baby shower? How many did you have? (Don't worry! I'm no longer bitter.) How many people came? If you had to guess, how far away would you say was the nearest dumpster?
*I'm only sharing this with you because I happen to find it ironic, not because I wish her any ill will, but this person actually miscarried shortly after this and has gone on to battle with infertility for the last six years. I know. Sad.