People seem to think we're having a baby
Or, maybe, a garage sale.
Our cramped basement has suddenly sprouted a swing, a bouncer, a car seat, a playpen, several gargantuan and mysterious but colorful plastic items in varying stages of dismantlement, three stuffed animals and a hardly-used Baby Bjorn.
I am the last of my family, friends and extended acquaintances to get myself pregnant--a consequence both of my advanced age and of the fact that most of my friends, though infinitely fertiler, are a few years older. The resulting swarm to give us stuff--physical, baby-smelling, bulky stuff--has caught me off guard. I was quite prepared for them to give--and me to selectively absorb or ignore--advice, assvice and the like. But all this stuff...well, it just seems so premature. And so real.
I'm not minding it; don't get me wrong. Not at all. It is thoughtful and kind and generous. It just, for want of a better term, trips me out. Because you can't look at this stuff and not picture it in use. And, I mean, wow. That just starts to blow my mind.