A Baby Shower

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In my bouts of third trimester sleeplessness I've been reading (and enjoying the hell out of) Waiting for Birdy: A Year of Frantic Tedium, Neurotic Angst, and the Wild Magic of Growing a Family.  Other than her non-elective c-section (not jealous of the cutting, little jealous of the getting to pick a date ahead of time), it feels like we're having the same pregnancy, except that she's much wittier when she talks about it.  

On baby showers, for example, she has this to say:

There's somthing so incredibly humbling about a baby shower.  Perhaps there are lots of women out there who unwrap gift after gift, nibbling home-baked lemon bars and feeling cradled in the tremendous blessing of community and friendship, and they think, "Yeah, I deserve this!  In fact, this is the least they could do!"  I don't seem to be one of them.  At my baby shower last weekend, I wavered between the sublime pleasure of tremendous friendship and lavish attention, the kind words and hilarity of friends, and abject horror at the amount of effort that had gone into the lovely event . . . . And me, having brought only my regular complaining self and hemmorrhoids.  Perhaps everyone had mistakenly thought that it was a shower for somebody else.

Some friends threw us a small shower this weekend, and that pretty much sums it up.  The piles of pink tissue paper, the chatting and snacking over making scrapbook pages for a baby book, the general warm feeling of knowing how lucky our little beaner is to be born into such a nice, cozy village....surely that extra large helping of blessings couldn't be for little old me, right?

But, hey, I'll take it!  :)