Maybe Baby? by Wendy Reichental
There are two things I hate getting in the mail. One is my Visa statement and the second… an invitation to someone’s Baby Shower! I am not talking about your typical familial one or a close friend, but it’s one of those obligated to go to acquaintance or work colleague situation where you are not even familiar with everyone there including the incumbent mother to be. But what makes this even worse is the all too familiar baby shower formula that awaits you; a room filled with seemingly euphoric women, miniature finger foods that these very same women will moan and complain they can’t eat because they are trying to watch their weight, and taking the cake, (which these women won’t because of the high calorie count!) are the strange humiliating ritualistic shower games we will be forced to play. What is less likely to be found at these functions is having a married woman in attendance cradling no desire for baby! Welcome to me!
With gift in hand, and reluctant foot in door, I enter the highly charged hormonal living room and already can see the numerous black folding chairs arranged in the mandatory ceremonial circle. I’m being ushered to a vacant chair by an overly excited game leader with my first command affix a clothes pin on my shirt and when I go to sit, not to cross my legs at any time during the afternoon. If a player catches someone crossing her legs, she takes her pin. Person with most pins at end of party wins. I lose my pin instantaneously. Next a basket filled with baby pinned closed miniature diapers is being passed around. We are instructed to take one diaper and place it promptly in our purses. The next game is noticeably a lot stickier as it involves a huge jar of Vaseline. We are instructed to take a good glob on our finger, and cover our nose thoroughly with it. On the floor are bowls of cotton balls. The point of this amusing game is to gather as many cotton balls as possible not using anything but your Vaseline covered nose. The participant with the most balls on their nose wins. I feel the urge to blurt out a non-baby related word that rhymes with “YUCK”.
I introduce myself to the punch bowl, and pray it to be heavily spiked. I pick up the ladle and start pouring myself a cup when a sharp piercing shrill from the living room startles me into spilling a substantial amount of the red juice on my new camel suede skirt, rhymes with “suck”! Apparently one guest stopped by with her newborn and everyone is busy swooning and swarming to garner a look. I make my way to the living room and awkwardly join a small group in their conversation. Within minutes someone asks if I have any children. I answer affirmatively “no” and this somehow unleashes a rush of concern and reproductive/infertility specialist names at me while a myriad of business cards are being forced into my hands. I wanted to clarify myself and say, “Hey, it’s ok!” I mean, “I’m ok!” “it’s by choice!,” but these women seemed so genuinely kind and sympathetic, that I simply smiled and tucked away their cards into my pocket.
There’s an announcement that presents are about to be opened in the living room, and we are all ordered again to take our seats. What seems like many hours and one too many Beatrix Potter gift sets later the party winds down, but not before our game leader reminds us to retrieve those diapers we placed in our purses from earlier on. The lucky person to uncover “poop” in their diaper will win a prize! I never wanted to be a loser so desperately! I carefully remove the baby pin allowing the diaper to slowly unfurl, and then I see it, that unmistakable stain! The woman next to me notices and wails with delight and quickly raises my arm in victory. I am given a lovely baby bottle filled with Hershey chocolate kisses which by the way and much to my relief was used to recreate the realistic crap.
I leave this baby shower, not feeling like a winner at all but like a conflicted woman of child bearing years. Maybe I do want in on this whole reproductive circle of life. Maybe I’m not as baby-proofed as I thought. As I swallow this thought and the rest of the Hershey’s, I’m in my car and to borrow a line from my favorite gal pal Carrie Bradshaw, “I can’t help but wonder” would I make a good mother, do I really want any part of this exclusive sisterhood of the motherhood? My head says no, my heart says maybe?
Wendy Reichental: I work as a secretary by day but at night I’m an avid reader and aspiring wannabe “life/humorist” writer. I hold a B.A. from McGill University and worked as a Reflexologist before returning to my day work as a secretary in the Dean’s Office of the Centre for Continuing Education at McGill University. Website: http://surewoman.com
