The Showering of the Baby

I still can’t bring myself to say her name out loud. We have one picked out, but it just sounds weird to my brain. So for now until sometime after she’s born, her name is Baby. Little baby. Or some junk like that.

I’ve been seeing the doctor every week. I’ve had sonograms out the yin-yang. And lab work? I consider myself a pro at this point. I can take a needle like a boss now, even without the promise of Starbucks and CFA afterwards.

Yesterday the baby threw me a bone and turned head down. She’s estimated to be close to 7 lbs, but who really knows at this point anyway? Also: HAIR. Enough hair to be visibly detected and observed, gracefully swaying back and forth in amniotic fluid, via ultrasound. This I can’t wait to see in real life. I’m starting to get excited.


My church family gave a baby shower for us this past Sunday. It’s not anything I expected or especially deserved, what with this one being baby #4. I would have been more than happy to just eat grapes in a small room with my friends as we swapped parenting stories, but may I just say: my family is so grateful, not just for the presents but for the love and support that everyone has shown us during this entire pregnancy.

Church girls can throw down some baby showers, let me tell you. Mine was ridiculously adorable. When my BFF asked what my “theme” was, I could only assume she meant, “What are you doing in her nursery?” And rather than answer with a simple “I have no idea. I’m just gonna throw a bunch of stuff in there and say that it matches,” I humored her and said, “You know. Hodge-podge-bohemian non-pastel vintage-y stuff and rainbows.”

She just gets me, when I don’t even get myself.

I had no idea Christian ladies could rock a rainbow-themed party the way my friends did–think less pride-parade and more God’s promises here:

IMG_0175 IMG_0179 IMG_0180


You know not what punch is until you’ve sipped the icy nectar from my church’s magnificent plastic vessels:


It just tastes so yum.


A shower is not complete until you’ve played at least one game, such as Blind-folded Baby-Changing Relay, where everyone involved gets made fun of by a large group of onlookers:




The new kid got a wardrobe that would make Kim Kardashian look homeless.




And me? I ate cake. Glorious cake–which went straight to my ankles. Worth it!


Apparently I am all about that bass.



The baby will be here by September the 4th (my doctor gave me a shining glimmer of hope by suggesting an earlier-than usual induction). And thanks to that baby shower, I am about as ready as I am going to be.

Really though? I can’t believe how long God has allowed me to carry this girl, safe and sound in my creaking, diabetic body. My fat-amy ankles, my ginormous pregnant belly, the killer Braxton-Hicks contractions every 10 seconds–I’d do it all for another 9 months if I had to, which is probably how long it’s going to take me to write all the thank-you cards that I need to write. We are so obscenely loved by people who aren’t even blood-related to us, but who we consider family nonetheless. There could not possibly be a baby who is more wanted and more blessed than ours anywhere in the world.


About Toni

Mom. Wife. Artist. I take care of the kids and pretend to clean sometimes. I can cook spagetti and I have never been arrested. View all posts by Toni

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