Celebrate tradition and pass that corncob
Baby showers are a fascinating study of women’s culture to me.
Confident, pull-no-punches, no-nonsense women in everyday life
suddenly become enamored at the sight of a tiny pink frilly
dress.
A couple of weeks ago, I was invited to this ritual. In fact,
I’d even had one myself, almost 15 years ago, in anticipation of
the arrival of The Girl.
Celebrate tradition and pass that corncob
Baby showers are a fascinating study of women’s culture to me. Confident, pull-no-punches, no-nonsense women in everyday life suddenly become enamored at the sight of a tiny pink frilly dress.
A couple of weeks ago, I was invited to this ritual. In fact, I’d even had one myself, almost 15 years ago, in anticipation of the arrival of The Girl.
Baby showers haven’t changed much. There is the usual awkward pause at the front door before you enter. You assess how many people you actually know at this shining once you go in and whether or not you will feel comfortable passing an ear of corn from between your knees, to another woman, who you might not have known five minutes ago. Although, in all honesty, I have to wonder how comfortable I would ever feel doing that with anyone.
Party favors are typical. A baby-themed something, usually wrapped in that net-like fabric, which is also used for the traditional Jordan almond favor given at weddings and tied with a tiny satin bow.
This particular shower was in honor of a co-worker and friend’s daughter. Actually not one of her daughters, but two of them. She actually had a great idea. Kill two birds, or storks if you will, with one stone.
Both young women were resplendent in their maternity tops and slight waddles as they stood up to be scrutinized for the measurement of the toilet paper belt that would yield a prize if you pulled the correct amount of squares that would wind around the expectant mom’s belly without overlapping. I thought back to my own shower. I remembered thinking that this was the only time in any woman’s life when it’s socially acceptable to guess how wide she is, when she is not working a carnival, and then win a prize. Usually a candle. That seems to be universal.
In this situation where there’s supposed to be mixing and mingling, you can feel a gentle, just under surface aspect of competition. You want to make sure that you don’t lose your clothespin that you’d affixed to your collar. The clothespin is in place for anyone to steal if they catch you crossing your legs (element of irony there), saying the word, “baby,” or any other rule that the hostess has informed us of. The one at the end of the shower with the most acquired clothespins wins … a candle.
The real fun begins when the co-hostess brings out a punchbowl full of vivid yellow liquid, with citrus slices floating on top. This would be the bowl that the expectant moms can’t drink from, and this is the source of courage for the corn game that I was referring to.
It could be easy to turn into a loud, slightly intoxicated, Niblets passer. Especially, when this event is outside, it’s warm and there’s plenty of room for stumbling around. Luckily, I was constantly aware that at the end of the day, when all the yellow stuff was gone, I’d still have to see these people on Monday. I didn’t want references to how hysterical it was when I fell down with a corn on the cob in a compromising position, whispered at the water cooler. I silently thank God that I am wearing a skirt. It would be even less sociably acceptable to do this while wearing anything but pants. I bow out.
As the day goes on, you learn about the people at the shower, what they do for a living, and most importantly at any baby shower, how long they were in labor with their third baby and if they had an epidural.  An independent study (mine) concludes that nearly all women who had a natural delivery with their first, any subsequent deliveries resulted in Mom being blissfully under the influence. We do learn from our mistakes.
While it might seem archaic, all of this strictly “women’s activity”, it does serve it’s purpose. It reminds us that we are women and have that common bond. But I for one, am a woman who is glad to be done having children, no matter how sweet that tiny pink dress is.
