No shower for this Bunny
I spoke to BFB on the phone last night. I made horrible faces when she talked about her baby, and kept my responses to her queries about my fetus pretty minimal, so it wasn’t bad. At the end of our conversation, she asked what I would like in the way of a baby shower. She was sweet about it, actually, saying she wanted to make sure I felt loved and supported. I’m coming down on the side of nothing at all, though. There are a few reasons, but it boils down to this. When I think about what I’d want, it’s clear that I can’t have it.
Here’s what I really want. I want time to stop for me* for a few years. While I’m frozen, I want all of you who are not already pregnant to become so. I want you to have healthy and joyful pregnancies wherein you enjoy…almost…every moment of the experience. I want you to have trouble-free deliveries and rosy-cheeked, happy babies. I want you to go through early parenthood and learn all there is to know about raising infants. Then I’ll rejoin you. I’ll invite you to my house. Teleportation will have been invented so it won’t be a pain to come. We’ll eat cupcakes and you’ll share your accumulated wisdom with me. We’ll commiserate over our various journeys and talk smack about Fertile Whores. You’ll get drunk and I’ll be envious.
But I can’t have that. ‘Cause teleportation is a long way off.
In reality, I have a small group of non-local friends, most of whom could not come to Ohio. Even BFB herself would have a tough time flying from CA with a baby and a teaching schedule, and she’s also on the job market so may have interviews and campus visits, but it will all be up in the air for a while. (She intimated that I could come to CA [where several of my friends live] and I was like FUCK YOU.) In addition, most of my friends don’t want kids, so have no wisdom to offer on the subject of which stroller to buy.
I feel slightly sad about it, but only because the IDEA of being surrounded by loving, wise women is pleasant. However, that’s not my reality. And I should keep in mind that if I did have a lot of women in my life with loads of experience with babies, I’d have spent the past two years hating them and wanting to stab them in the throats.
*Um, and I guess for Bun Bun, too, or that could be pretty problematic. And Mr. Bunny. And my tenure committee.