by Aurora Bordeaux
I was watching some classic Sex and the City season 1 the other day and marveled at the episode where the gals travel out to the suburbs for a baby shower to peer at the spectacle of a former-slut-turned-turbo-mommy careen around her living room in floral prints while she held court as mamma-to-be. I last watched the show in my early twenties and enjoyed it, but watching it from the seats that are closer to 30 is a much different experience.
SATC used to be amusing, but now it’s downright gratifying. The faces of the four main characters opening their shower invites (eye rolls, sucking in air, mild frowns) were now faces I had made in real life when opening similar letters. The sense that you’ve wasted an afternoon at a shower feeling like an alien in foreign territory. The exhaustion from being reamed with the everlasting question “And when are you going to get pregnant?” The chagrin that you’re $50 lighter for a gift to an acquaintance or long lost “friend” who’s just suddenly emerged from the woodwork in time for their own party, someone who will likely never return your calls again.
I had forgotten, however, that in SATC season 1 Samantha decids to take her feelings of not fitting in by the cojones and throw herself a party. Not just any party, but a fabulous “I Don’t Have a Baby Shower.” I was intrigued.
Think about it. We get sucked into wedding showers, baby showers, second baby showers, and all sorts of events designated to celebrate the decisions of others. So why can’t we celebrate the decision to be childfree?
I’m tempted to throw a shower for Bosco #2 (whose name, bt dubs, is Charminator!) just to see the ridiculous reactions I might get. It would be part revenge, but mostly celebration. The thing is, I can’t quite decide who would celebrate with me and who would poop the party.
I guess sometimes I just want to celebrate something, too. Throw a party with a theme that’s not a 30th. Make friends and have fun. Rent a bouncy house. Eat high quality cheese.
Though we only have a handful of friends and none of them know we are officially childfree, part of me is tempted to hit the address book and blast invites out to everyone, including the inlaws. What would happen?
Based on most people’s reactions so far to the news of our new puppy, I can only imagine the looks on most faces as the envelopes opened. But part of me is tempted to make a statement. To say this is my life, this is my family. I love it, and I love the people and puppies in it. To declare that our family is real and valid and matters just as much as everyone else’s.
I have decided to send out formal new puppy announcements to a handful of people. Why not? We’re even having some professional photos taken (thanks, Living Social!) because the last good pictures of the hubs and I together were years ago for our wedding. We are ready and determined to have a ball.
Oh yes, and I’m making Charminator a tutu for the photos. It’s going to be absolutely adorable on her 7 pound self, and I don’t care what the world thinks. Dammit.
I figure, who cares. It’s my life. This is my family–the hubs, Bosco, and Charminator, and we can take pictures and send cards and wear tutus if we want to. We can leave crummy friends behind. Because crummy friends won’t dance, and if they won’t dance… Screw ’em. (PS, I actually visited the Biodome in person as a kid and it. Was. Awesome.)