So last Wednesday, we went to register for the baby shower. Wait, I skipped that bit didn’t I?
Okay, back up another week — I found out the week that I took my comps that my girlfriends have basically set up a baby shower for me. At the point where I became involved, they had already picked out the date, the place, and most of the guest list. All I owed anyone was addresses for my friends and family that are outside our usual circle and a registry to buy off of. So I immediately volunteered Becky to come with me and give me the lowdown on what was worthwhile and what was nothing but pretty fluff.
So we’re at Tarjay, and Manly joins us a little while later in the foray into the world of teensy tiny, overpriced baby stuff. And I have to admit, I wasn’t terribly excited. I mean, yes, I am all geeked out about having this little boy in a few (dear god so very few left) months — but the idea of “me” plus “baby stuff” still just doesn’t make … sense. As we were walking down those aisles, what kept coming back to mind was how many times I had walked past them, averted my eyes, and tried to force down tears. Or how awful I felt while I was shopping for my SIL’s shower in that store. It was kind of like I was split in two. Half of me was cheerily scanning away on hedgehodge onesies and oohing over those silky soft blankets, but the other half of me was in terror of having to be there at all.
We did Tarjay and Babies R Ungrammatically Correct that night, and I managed to get through it. I had done zero homework on what kind of carseat or stroller or swing or anything that we wanted because I just couldn’t face it, so I quasi-delegated those decisions to Manly and Becky. I don’t know if they even noticed, but I essentially said “sure” to whatever they picked out. I almost feel a little bad admitting that, like it means I don’t love the baby enough to tenderly choose each and every item that he’s going to come into contact with. Snort. Whatever.
Maybe here’s where I admit that I let Manly add a selection of beer to the registry when we strayed too close to the aisle while trying to find thermometers in Target…
It’s still hard for me having baby stuff in the house (more on that later. a LOT more.) It’s hard to think about having a baby at Thanksgiving or at Christmas, because unfortunately I know that even at this point something could still go horribly wrong. On the other hand though, I think of my husband’s face while plowing through baby toys with a scanner, eyes lit up at the idea that one day all this stuff will be ours. His sheer abandon at expressing his happiness over this little boy is contagious, and I can’t help but be happy with him. THIS is what we waited so long for. THIS is what makes the pain, not worth it, but bearable in retrospect.