Let me set the scene for you. Mama Bear is firmly in the middle of the second trimester of pregnancy with Baby Bear, when the older ladies of the family start buzzing about a baby shower. Now, to fully understand my trepidation with being the center of attention, we have to go back to my freshman year of high school. I am a gangly, shy, and uncoordinated fool who decided to run for a spot in student government, much to the bewilderment of absolutely everyone. Mama Bear was PAINFULLY shy when she was a wee little one.
I got up to the podium to give my speech to roughly 500 students, puked, tripped, and hit my head on the podium on the way down, knocking myself unconscious in a pile of my own vomit.
We could have afforded a much larger wedding than the one we had, I just didn’t want that many people to see me on my wedding day for precisely this reason.
I despise being the center of attention. My best friends had to threaten me with the most absurd baby items you’ve ever seen to get me to create a baby registry, but there is no turning down your 80-something year old grandma when she says this may be the last great grandbaby she gets to celebrate.
And so, a plan was born. Invitations (actual physical invites, not a FB one) were sent out, travel plans were made, and we fast forward to just a few short weeks before Baby Bear is supposed to arrive, and the day of the shower. I am doing my best to disguise the beached whale look I have going on and am failing miserably. I am hot, moody, and uncomfortable. Baby Bear has decided that my bladder is a GREAT place to rest his 100th percentile head. I’m already peeing every 10-15 minutes as it is, so I’m in no small amount of discomfort when we arrive.
Now you would think that, since he’d been around for the pregnancies of his children, that my father would understand when an extremely pregnant woman says she has to pee, YOU LET HER GO PEE. People are starting to arrive, and of course everyone wants to see the incubator, because why the hell not? I’m standing there doing the I have to pee dance, it is PAINFULLY obvious I am two minutes away from pissing myself and my dad WILL NOT STOP TALKING. Finally, I have enough:
“I swear to god dad if you don’t let me go pee I will learn to aim!”
SILENCE. The whole fucking room goes SILENT. We’re talking 50+ people, and I am not that loud.
I hightailed it as much as a beached whale could to the bathroom and hid until Papa Bear’s aunt came and rescued me. My dad avoided me for the rest of the day. And no one said a WORD about it, it was glorious.
I’m not telling a single person the next time I’m pregnant. Thinking of going and living in a monastery until it’s time to give birth.