I’m baaa-aaack from my East Coast baby shower, a fun and food-filled affair generously organized by my sister-in-law, sister and mom.
I learned not only that people REALLY enjoy buying clothes for baby girls — our daughter will be able to change outfits more often than Diddy changes names (until she’s six months old, at which point she’ll be naked) — but also that I, as the mom, have pretty much nothing to do with my daughter or, well, anything.
Candy ignores the gifts not addressed to her, and the fact that you can almost see up her dress
The official tally:
Number of times my adorable-but-admittedly-sexist grandma told me I looked good, then told Mr. Candy that must be because HE is taking such good care of me: 1
Number of “I love my uncle” photo frames: 1
Number of “If you think I’m cute, you should see my aunt” onesies: 1
Number of “Grandma’s Little Sweetie” outfits: 1
Number of presents from my mother-in-law addressed solely to my husband containing “Daddy’s Little Sweetie” t-shirts: 2
Number of presents acknowledging MY involvement in this whole child creation process: 0
Of course, given that my mother-in-law once displayed no fewer than 20 pictures from our wedding in her house — with none of them featuring ME — the daddy-centric gifts should come as no surprise.
“It’s nothing personal,” Mr. Candy assures me. “Mom just REALLY loves her sons.”
I’ll try to keep that in mind when I see the hospital pictures of me, Mr. Candy and Baby Girl up on her wall… and my face is “accidentally” chopped off.
“It’s nothing personal, Mr. Candy will assure me. “You were just disrupting the balance of the pictures, that’s all!”
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to shop for the remaining critical items on our baby list. We still need a car seat, swing, Pack ‘n’ Play, diapers…
Oh, screw that. Mama needs to buy a “Mommy’s Little Girl” onesie!