Apologies for failing to complete The Great Shower Saga. To be honest, there wasn't all that much of interest to report on the frou-frou front: my sister unabashedly hosted the event in a rose-colored cocktail dress, pale green pashmina and four-inch glittery sandals; most of the invitees were gracious enough to comply with her ridiculous request to dress in the color scheme (which apparently extended to the actual invitations--I wouldn't have known as I didn't receive one myself); she made bags of nougat and jars of strawberry jam, all bedecked in fans and bags of the pale-green-and-rose wrapping paper that also housed her gift to us. The setting was lovely, if sickeningly sweet, and some of my oldest friends came. An us-centric anagram game was forced upon the group just as people were starting to get lubricated and loquacious after the second round of mimosas, at which point all conversation and laughter came to a screeching halt. We received a number of useful and charming presents--some of which choked me right up--and only one real dud (a sizable dud, my friends--framed and expensive and something I have made fun of for the last fifteen years). Did I mention that the husbands were refused invitation and ended up doing what society expected of them, i.e. playing golf?
So, enough about the shower. After the shower, we had our treat. I have not spoken with the ladies in attendance about writing up the visit, so I will not mention them by name. But let it be known that both Jeff and I enjoyed exceptional food and even better company in the presence of not one, not two but three of the smartest, funniest and most interesting infertile women in Blogland. (That description does not do justice, but I cannot think of appropriate superlatives.) Not to mention two of the husbands, who are--not surprisingly--equally smart and funny and interesting and superlative-y. Go figure. And these lovely women are also kind of heart, not minding my obnoxiously pregnant belly and offering me chairs and tea and such. If it weren't for the Unfortunate Incident of the Skunk in the Nighttime, I don't think I could have been pried from their presence with a crowbar--I was enjoying myself that much.
So, on to shower #2, hosted last weekend by a Bay Area friend who normally likes to emulate Martha but asked what I wanted and rolled with it. Ahhhhhh. Relaxed. Unisex. Friendly food, unpretentiously presented. Everyone laughing and talking and comfortable. The friend's neighbor with her adoped Chinese daughter, giving advice on what to eat in Guangzhou province when your match has been delayed. A friend carefully acknowledging our early losses in her thoughtful, moving card. We felt so richly supported, and so glad to have this friend-family already involved in our little one's life.
After the NST tomorrow, we work for a few hours and then take off for the special, just-us weekend I wrote about a while back. The one where I won't yet be too large or sedentary. Except, embarrassingly enough, that I am. I mean, I can't even get up from a chair without putting a hand to my back and staggering like a drunken pirate. So much for hiking the narrow cliff trails, I suppose, not to mention any chance of, like, romance
. I'm really in it for the Cowgirl Creamery cheese and the Bovine Bakery sourdough boule anyway, so it isn't much of a loss.