Lifestyle
Baby showers seem to be events designated for everyone else.
Engaging in light conversation with my aunt’s acquaintance was surprisingly easy. While I might not relish it as much as she does, I inherited my father’s knack for connecting with anyone, anywhere. My toddler was darting around when the friend remarked on her noticeably fluffy backside. I explained that we use cloth diapers, and she reminisced about her own experiences with cloth back in the ’70s. She lamented about her daughter’s struggles to find a disposable brand that fits right, doesn’t break the bank, and doesn’t irritate her grandchildren’s skin.
I nodded politely, and then she hit me with, “And it’s the worst with baby showers! You end up with a mountain of diapers, and you just hope they work for your kids!”
“Well,” I replied, “we didn’t face that issue.”
With my first child, my (male) best friend and his wife made an attempt to organize a shower for me. Only one person showed up. Seriously. I didn’t have many close friends, and the few I had at that time were childless. Each one canceled for various reasons, completely unaware of how disappointing that was for me. My workplace, comprised mostly of women, forgot to arrange anything and rushed to put something together on my last day. It fell flat.
Now, with my second child on the way, my best friend has relocated back to New York. After being a stay-at-home mom for two years, I’ve watched those friendships without kids drift away.
I never anticipated a celebration, but that’s not what the world perceives. I’m a 31-year-old average-looking (or so I think) expectant mother, beaming in bump photos on social media just like everyone else. Baby showers are expected, even for those having a second child; a small gathering is typical. Recently, I was invited to a surprise “sprinkle” for another second-time mom I know. In fact, I’ve seen images of “light shower” events for several experienced mothers this year. Some are labeled as sprinkles, while others stick to the traditional shower format but choose themes like diaper showers, book showers, or meal showers (where they prepare freezer meals for the expecting mom).
The common belief is that all pregnant women receive a party. Why wouldn’t they? They’re creating life within them! Yet, it seems that everyone in my circle presumes someone else is taking the lead. Someone else is closer, someone else will be there.
But what happens when those celebrations don’t happen?
A drought occurs… Or you nourish it yourself.
For a long time, I let that drought persist. I felt dry and cracked. To be honest, I still find myself in that position at times. But I’m learning to nurture myself. After all, it’s my baby.
We don’t need material things. I don’t seek gifts. What I crave is acknowledgment. I want my children to be recognized and celebrated for the miracles they are. And I can provide that. Perhaps there won’t be extravagant decorations or fancy treats, but I can create a moment of joy.
I’m releasing the notion that a party equates to love. Not everyone is given a shower. Most mothers around the globe aren’t part of the American culture of gal pals sipping mocktails and devouring cake pops.
I am also letting go of the hurt that comes with seeing invitations and photos of other people’s joyous events. Social media doesn’t reflect reality. I genuinely want others to find happiness in their experiences. No one intends to create pain; it’s simply how life unfolds.
I’m relinquishing the belief that everyone can extend the level of effort and intimacy that I require from them. It’s unrealistic to assume they can meet my expectations. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to them. I often struggle to manage my daughter’s needs and my own basic well-being. So why should I expect more from others?
I am going to celebrate myself. I created a life. That’s remarkable. I formed every cell of my baby’s being. I absolutely deserve to honor myself. Not only that, but I accomplished this while caring for another human I brought into the world. I may feel isolated, but I’m also incredibly resilient.
I will shower myself—not with items we can’t afford or don’t need, but with kindness, understanding, and love for this body that built a family from the ground up.
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Summary:
The author reflects on their experience of not having a baby shower for their second child, exploring feelings of disappointment and societal expectations. They acknowledge the importance of self-celebration and releasing the need for validation from external sources. Ultimately, they find empowerment in recognizing their own strength as a mother while nurturing their growing family.