Shower

Let me begin this way:

I am an ass.

Now, some history.

If you’ve read much of this blog before, then you may already know that I had IVF in order to get pregnant, and maybe you know that’s because I have blocked fallopian tubes after an ectopic pregnancy (naturally conceived) I had last year. You might even know that I’ve been trying to get pregnant since January 2005.

And you may recall me saying that infertility sucks balls.  Before infertility, I was the kind of person who’d look at someone undergoing treatment like IVF and say, “there are so many kids already born who need homes – why would anyone go through IVF?” Oh yes, I did say that. And I meant it, working with a lot of homeless kids in shelters at the time. I mentally stab myself in the leg with a fork for that now.

So. For the past 3+ years I have been as avoidant of any baby-related social event as I could be. I was extra specially hyper avoidant of the dreaded friend/extended family member’s baby shower. Just. Couldn’t. Do. It.

Because I have an ego, early in my pregnancy I’d made an announcement to those I thought needed to hear it – no baby shower! I did not want to ask my family and friends to participate in an event I had willfully (maybe even spitefully) ignored for the last 3+ years of my life. I just couldn’t face those people or look at how poorly I’d handled my feelings over being infertile in the social context. So more avoidance had been my plan.

How was I going to get the hundreds, or perhaps thousands of dollars worth of gear I was going to need? Hell, I thought these babies would be more like puppies. A cardboard box and some sheets would do, right? They don’t do anything but eat and sleep for awhile – how much could they possibly need? (Hey, I might be 39 years old but what did do I know about babies?)

Six weeks ago or so, someone let it slip that a surprise shower was in the works. I won’t say who. Actually, no less than five someones let it slip. I was told out of kindness, so I would be able to either stop it or prepare myself for it. When I found out, I cried. I was angry, frustrated, a little humiliated and damn it, here was another thing about this pregnancy that felt out of control.

Then I mentally slapped myself. Because I suddenly understood clearly that this baby shower wasn’t about me, and this was something I was going to have to get used to if I was going to be a Mom.

See, the masterminds of the dreaded affair were my stepmother and her daughter, my stepsister, “A”.  A  has been battling cancer for almost five years.  She’s been recovering most recently from lung surgery ever since April.  She is still on oxygen and has dialysis three days a week (from the damage previous cancer treatment has done to her kidneys).

There is nothing – nothing – like a loved one’s cancer to make you understand what is and what is not a big deal in life. My ego? SO not a big deal. Even though I couldn’t see that at first, my stepmom could. And she understood that my babies needed stuff, and that I was going to need help no matter how reluctant I am to admit it or accept it.

While my stepmom was booking the restaurant and paying the bills, A was in charge of all the details – from the invitations to the decorations to the shower games.  She put that shower at the center of her free time for over a month, painting custom made centerpieces and hand rolling adorable little favors between dialysis and schlepping into the city for experimental chemo treatment. “I loved doing it,” she said. I know she did, too.

If that realization wasn’t humbling enough, all of my extended family came out. All of them – even those whose RSVPs I never returned when they had showers of their own, to whom I’d never bothered to send a card or gift of acknowledgment of any kind when their own kids were born. They were all there and they outfitted my two kids better than NASA equips the shuttle.

I told you I am an ass. Did you think I was kidding?

To top it all off, would you believe that it was A’s best day since her surgery in April? She didn’t use her oxygen for most of the event, despite the fact that she was running around, handling gifts and guests and wait staff.  I haven’t seen her with that kind of energy since before her operation.

When I stood up to thank everyone, I cried.  I’ve done my share of crying over the last few years, but somehow these pregnancy tears are different. Yeah, I still get those snot filled migraine styled headaches when it goes on for too long. But I’m not in mental anquish when the tears come.

I think I’m just experiencing the literal awesomeness of what the whole thing means.

You know, the life cycle and the continuation of our very existence. The way love in a family can transcend any one member’s social transgressions and promote the healing of a bitter past and maybe thensome.  

That kind of thing.