One of the benefits of living within a reasonable distance from where we grew up is that we have friends and family in Philly, and friends up here in Syracuse. In a more practical sense, this means that we have enough folks to have two showers, one down there and one up here. In an even more practical sense, this means more stuff for us. While this sounds like we only endure the showers for all the gifts, that is certainly not the truth. Kim is a big fan of all the games and pageantry of these affairs. I do, however, endure it only for the stuff. And the deviled eggs.
Our ‘Cuse bash was held on the Sunday eight days after the Philly affair concluded. The original plan had been for that Saturday, but it turned out (to our amazement) that attendance would be approximately 400% better if it was shifted one day into the future. Easy going folks that we were, we graciously agreed to the change, although it was difficult for me to abandon my early Sunday morning golfing plans. After all, once baby arrives I will no longer be able to golf (or go to bars, attend baseball games, read John Grisham novels, or have any fun whatsoever that doesn’t involve ‘changing Mayor McPoopy’).
The entire shindig was primarily planned by my boss’s wife, Jennifer, whom Kim had spent many days with over the past few months helping take care of her children. The shower was to be a bit more traditional than the Jack and Jill bbq of the previous week, with the attendees primarily of the female variety and the agenda relatively ’standard’ baby shower fare. Helping out Jennifer was my co-worker’s wife, Jenny and Kim’s mother in law, Claudia. As always, I lent my considerable expertise in “staying out of the way” to the planning. Judging by its success, I would give myself the lions share of the credit.
It was an awesome shower. The food was spectacular – Jennifer and her parents had spent countless hours cooking the night before to create a ridiculous set of hor doeurves that both tempted the olfactory senses and tickled the palate. Er. They smelled great and tasted better. I tried and loved everything (except the spring rolls, which my boss had mentioned that he had lovingly crafted and thus I avoided it like a Florida tomato). The sheer volume and variety was enough to even make Martha Stewart throw down her oven mitts in frustration.
As the women gorged themselves on the “tender victuals,” all were amused with some standardized baby games, including my personal favorite, the “cut the ribbon to what you think the circumference of the pregnant woman’s belly encompasses.” This is a fascinating exercise, if for no other reason than the fact that if you attempted this particular game at any other time in a woman’s life you’d be subject to open handed backslaps to the face (in a best case scenario) to second degree murder (in a worst case). Although a jury of female peers would probably rule ‘justifiable homicide.’
I amused myself during this period by wandering around with my fancy new camera, taking glamour shots of the ladies wolfing down mini-quiches and fruit kabobs. I also chased around my boss’s little dog in a vain attempt to tire the thing out. Honestly, the thing has ram scoops on its back to turbocharge it’s engine. Sensing my uselessness, when the time came to open the loot, the hosts graciously asked if I would like to participate, because after all, half of the baby is legally mine. I declined however, opting instead to hide in a corner and try to avoid directly staring at all the poop related accessories we received.
A big thank you to Claudia, Jenny K, and of course Jennifer, for putting on a wonderful affair. I’m sure it’s a memory my wife and I will treasure always. I’m sure that the fetus had fun too – although honestly he/she probably won’t mention it when you meet him/her.
As the shower came to a close, the feeling was somewhat bittersweet. Now that the last shower is over, the final gifts received, and all of our friends once again returning to the bridges many of them live under, the truth of the situation has become painfully clear. There are no more hurdles or milestones left to hang on for, no more big events or travel that we ‘just need to make it to.’
All that we have left to do is to complete the inevitable outcome that seemed so far away 9 months ago – meet this thing that lives in my wife’s stomach in person.
And eat the leftover deviled eggs, of course.
