It’s another rainy Monday, suitable for my mood and the fact that my shower was yesterday. For some reason I’m having post shower depression. My guess is because I have a ton of shit piled into my house and nowhere to put it. Seriously, I got so much stuff. The funniest part is, that most of the stuff I got is stuff that I didn’t really need, like clothes. I DO NOT need another single thread of baby clothing. Ever. Another weird thing is that a lot of people bought me very gender specific items, like boy outfits with cars and girly little frilly pink dresses. What makes people think that’s ok? I’d much rather have WHAT WAS ON MY LIST. Isn’t that why you make the list?
Not surprisingly I’m going to go off on a little rant here. As grateful as I am about the magnitude of gifts that I received, I’m ready to puke duckies. My friend Jamie told me that after she had her shower for her daughter, she was ready to puke pink. Well, apparently the most gender neutral clothing out there is covered in ducks. I don’t have a problem with ducks, but my kid is going to grow a beak if I dress him/her in this shit all the time. And why, why, WHY did you buy me clothes when they weren’t on my list??? I understand that it’s hard to resist the cute little outfits, but one is sufficient. I was pulling 5 or 6 outfits at a time out of gift bags.
The best outfit I got was from Starr, who got me a cute Baby Einstein outfit that I loved with the little lizard on it saying “Blah!” And it’s green. Not a hint of duckies. It may become Fuzzball’s “coming home from the hospital” outfit. My friend Janae got me my extremely expensive bedding along with matching accessories, which I totally didn’t expect from anyone. The best practical gift was from Michele, who got me my breast pump. Oddly enough, she was the ONLY person who got me anything breastfeeding related. Is that an embarrassing purchase? Someone got me a powdered formula dispenser… NOT ON MY LIST. My list obviously said that I’d be a breastfeeding mom, so I don’t get it. I had breast pads and nipple cream (that I got thanks to Michele), along with bottles and storage containers. I didn’t get one bottle. Or even a pack of stupid storage bags. Why did I have that list again? Oh yeah, so my FRIENDS who are smart could buy me what I wanted, and so old ladies could buy me pink dresses. GAH!
I know I sound like such a bitch. But if Fuzzball is a boy, he’s getting dressed up in a pink dress when I take him over to Ryan’s grandma’s house, because she was one of the gender offenders.
I did get more diapers than I can handle. The majority of them are size 1, which is 8 to 14 pounds. So I hope Fuzzball stays under 14 pounds until I can use all of them. I never need to buy baby wash or lotions. I got sheets, curtains, 3 diaper bags, the dresser, and my bouncer. All I need now is my travel system (stroller and car seat), the swing, and little items, like burp clothes, teeny shoes, and grooming stuff.
I am totally amazed that probably half of the stuff on my Target list didn’t get bought. I really wanted a lot of what was on there and now I have to buy it myself. Thankfully I got 300 bucks in Target gift cards, which will cover the travel system and swing. I’m on my own for the rest.
And BLANKETS! I must be returning 20 blankets. I probably got a dozen handmade blankets. Crocheted, knitted, embroidered, quilted, you name it, I got it. Getting those kinds of blankets really cheapen the fleece receiving blankets. Especially the ones with Looney Tunes on them that WEREN’T ON MY LIST. Oh wait, they cheapen themselves.
Ok, I’m going to stop right here before my hormones get the best of me. Too late!
The positive things were that nobody except for the bartender at the Elks Club (where the shower was) asked me what the names we picked were, and I only got 2 comments about how big I was and how much weight I gained (but one of the comments was from a slightly senile lady who later wandered into the men’s room, so she doesn’t really count).
And my mom, who put it all together. She’s a pain in the ass but she does throw one hell of a party.