Showers of babies

God, life is really funny sometimes. It fucking cracks me up.

We had a baby shower in our office yesterday. Whoopee-doo. Unfortunately, because I'm a complete and utter idiot, a couple of months ago I'd made a vague offer to help out in some way. You know, I figured I'd help put up a streamer or two and that would be it. I've helped out on most of these things in the past, so thought it would be a bit odd if I didn't step up to the plate. Not that other people's baby showers are my favorite things, but they don't drive me nuts. Anyway, so about a month ago, I got an email from the lady who was organizing the shower, along with another Sarah in the office saying that as we'd both volunteered to help, the two Sarahs could help with the decorations. Ha ha. Very witty. After a while, it became apparent that we were expected to do ALL of the decorations, not just put up a couple of streamers. OK, fine. Me and the other Sarah got together, we checked out the registry, found out the nursery theme, all of that. We decided to make the decorations green, with jungle animals. Just like the nursery. All very cool. Just before we were going to head out on the shopping trip, the organizer lady said that a friend of hers had a bunch of decorations that were "gently used" and that we could use, which would save buying any. I explained the whole theme thing and that I wasn't sure that it was a good idea, but the organizer lady said this stuff would fit in perfectly. She insisted that we use the recycled stuff. So the other Sarah decided to plan party favors, and I basically did nothing, expecting that all I'd have to do was put up a few streamers and that would be it. It was all going according to plan, finally.

On Wednesday I got handed the bag of decorations. It was full of a very small amount of tatty crap, much of which was falling apart, and which was blue with duckies. Fucking eh. Hardly what I'd call green with jungle animals, and I'm not quite sure how this stuff would be perfect with our theme. There weren't enough plates or napkins, no table coverings, and there was one banner. It's a big room. It needs more than one fucking banner. So I spent much of Wednesday racing around to different stores buying shit. I must have spent $40 on decorations. On my own. Because it was all last minute and there was no-one else around to help. Managed to get a green/blue Noah's Ark theme going. Got some animal shaped cookies. Cut some wrapping paper up to cover various surfaces. It was all coming together. I was a veritable Martha Stewart.

So, yesterday. I headed up to the conference room first. This is a large conference room in our building that any tenant can use for a few hours for big meetings, parties, etc. There was a maintenance guy there, messing around with a ladder.

"Oh, you had party?" he said.
"Well, we're about to have a party, I'm just starting the decorating. Other people will be helping in a minute."
"Party for you?"
"Uh, no, I'm decorating, it's not a party for me."
He looks in the bag of decorations. "Baby shower?"
"Yup."
"For you?"
"No, not for me, I'm just putting the decorations out."
"But you pregnant, yes?"
"No." Sigh. "Just fat."
"Oh, who it for?"
"Susan. Well, wait, there are four Susans in the office, but, you know, the one that's 8 months pregnant." The one that's hugely fucking pregnant, I'm thinking, unlike me. The one that is obviously due for a fucking baby shower. Unlike me.

The other Sarah was nowhere to be seen. The organizer lady was arsing around with chicken wings, and making some weird punch concoction, so I basically did the decorating on my own. I was helped after a while by the husband of the very pregnant Susan, who'd shown up to help drive the haul of gifts home. But we got it done. It looked fine, if a bit understated because of the lack of tat, as I'd already chucked some of the more garish items on the grounds of bad taste.

The shower was fine. Except I ate far too much chocolate and cake because I was depressed about being called pregnant. And then I ended up staying late to clean up, even though I just wanted to run away from everyone and all the cutesy baby stuff. I am a schmuck. A fat schmuck. A fat schmuck who apparently looks pregnant enough to have a baby shower thrown in her honor.

I got home, and called the family to see how their various health complaints are coming along. I try to be a good relative, see, even if I'm not exactly chirpy at the moment. My aunt asked me if I was still depressed, as I'd been a bit down at the weekend after the acupuncture bawling-my-eyes-out fiasco. Well, um, let me see, I've failed three IVFs (four if we're counting that cancelled one) and my RE has just basically fired me so now I have to travel out-of-state in a last ditch attempt at conceiving. So, I'm sorry if I'm not bouncing back instantly. And now some arsehole just asked if I was pregnant.

I ate more chocolate. I felt sick. And then I got annoyed with myself that I blew my diet. And felt sick some more.

This morning, as I arrived, I found a big bag of decorations sitting in my office. I suppose I am now the official keeper of the baby-themed tat? Like I want a bag full of cutesy baby decorations lingering around my desk? I foresee that it may end up being accidentally misplaced prior to the next office baby shower. In the shredder.