A Baby Gift
I’m going to a baby shower on Saturday. My mom didn’t believe in baby showers, so we didn’t have them on my side of the family. My mom’s not around anymore, so my nieces are hosting for my niece. This is big. Traditionally, these events are given by the aunts. I feel a succession plan in place.
There was no baby shower when my daughter Katie was pregnant. Recalling my mom’s thoughtful gift of lovely, white eyelet bumper pads for Katie’s hand-me-down crib from Tim’s cousin, I told Katie, “I would love to get the bumper pads for the crib.”
“We don’t use bumper pads.”
They don’t use old cribs either. I soon learned to tame my garage sale groove as these gifts were not greeted with the same fervor I experienced at the card table.
Generational changes are endless. My parents didn’t use car seats, my kids sat in them until preschool when carpooling began.
My grandbabies reclined in John Glenn Orbits the Moon carseats requiring the mind of an engineer for proper launching. They now sit in booster seats complete with water bottle holders. Ingenious. I love those carseats. I want the kids to be safe, safe, and more safe.
I scroll through the baby registry and marvel at the gadgets: video monitors, sound machines for the baby’s room and the stroller, bottle dryers, portable changing tables.
I struggle with my gift selection and opt for one I wish I had - a thermometer that reads the baby’s temperature simply by holding it against the baby’s head.
When Katie was three months old, I thought she felt feverish. My mother-in-law Mary was visiting and said, “Just put some Vaseline on the thermometer’s tip and insert it into Katie’s bottom.”
I took the silver-tipped, blue-lined glass tube out of its plastic case, slathered it, spread those beautiful baby cheeks, and froze. There was no way I was sticking that thing inside of Katie. Swear to God. I don’t know why God gave me kids.
Mary did it. She held up Katie’s legs as if she was a calf, slid that thing in, held it, and counted to what seemed forever. This was hell for me. I still shiver at the thought of it. Katie was fine.
Click, click, click. I purchase my gift - and hope it never needs to be used.