The problem with baby showers.
We’ve had quite a few of these where I work this year. Five, I think. I have about 60 colleagues.
My mother was something of an enthusiast for buying “welcome to the world” presents for babies. Even for babies she only knew slightly, as it were. Not only friends’ and relations’ babies, but also friends’ relations’ babies and relations’ friends’ babies received a carefully chosen little present. So did any older siblings, so that they wouldn’t feel left out. Much of the value of the present was in the care with which it was chosen. (Or, after Mum had retired and become really very good at quilting, the care with which the quilt was made.)
We do learn from our parent’s behaviour, and I took this as “the right thing to do” and duly made and bought “Welcome to the world” presents in the same way. My mother was not a superstitious person, but even on occasions where she had made or purchased a present in advance, she didn’t give it before the baby had arrived. As she said to me, sometimes things do go wrong, and a pile of presents waiting for a baby who never did come home would add unnecessarily to great grief. I followed suit; the only present I sent before the baby’s birth was posted to Australia. (He was fine, in case you’re worried.)
As I went through my twenties and thirties, I bought a fair number of presents. What I lacked in money (or needlework ability), I tried to make up for in thought, imagination and time.
The first time there was a baby shower at work about six years ago, a number of us brought our presents in on the appointed day and we had biscuits and a slice of cake with our coffee towards the end of lunchbreak. Little items of clothing were unwrapped and admired. A little pair of dungarees from one, a tiny cardigan from another…..some colleagues had co-ordinated and bought matching tops and bottoms and socks. Although the colleague was better off than most of us, by a considerable margin, no-one was made to feel uncomfortable about their contribution, even if it was a far from prestigious brand. A few people had bought tokens. It was a low key affair. Not everyone attended (We can’t all have the same lunch break after all.) and there was no sense of it being a three line whip. (I hope this phrase is intelligible to non-UK readers, please let me know if not.)
Nowadays though …… Nowadays one is bombarded with e-mail reminders from about six weeks in advance of each event. It is mentioned in every staff briefing. The reminders include the name of member of staff to whom you should give your contribution. The expectant parent (mothers and fathers are treated equally) is to be delightfully surprised by this event - although with five this year alone, and some last year, I beg leave to doubt the degree of surprise. I’m not claiming to be ill-paid compared to my colleagues, but I have become acutely aware that my Other Half, essential though his work is, professional and dedicated though his attitude to his job is, does not earn as much as many of my colleagues Other Halves. Once upon a time this would not have mattered in the slightest to anyone. Now, I cannot help worrying that the appointed receiver of contributions will consider mine paltry and be offended on her friend’s behalf. And yes, even I, childless though I am, can imagine the fun of being able to choose things for your expected child and the pleasure of having everything to your taste and matching.
But has something along the way been lost? I couldn’t attend the first baby shower this year, for a newish colleague I hardly knew, because I was on duty. I didn’t have the time to track the “collecting” member of staff down to give my contribution, since that colleague arrived later and left earlier than I did. No longer is there the safe anonymity of a plain brown envelope in someone's pgeon hole, into which you slip your contribution discretely, not letting your left hand know what your right hand is doing. I certainly didn’t have the confidence to go and buy a little garment then or later. Suppose they were offended that it wasn’t more? Suppose they were offended by my lack of taste? They were sure not to get any pleasure from something so insignificant, I became convinced. And then, I’m ashamed to say, I made no effort to try to organise my work to attend the other baby showers, because I had discovered what a relief it had been not to be worried about the first one. I don’t suppose the prospective parents have minded in the slightest, actually. Perhaps they were even relieved not to have to pretend to be appreciative of a present that seems laughably cheap. I don’t expect the babies mind in the slightest either. They will already have enough for their material needs.
Am I just feeling sorry for myself? Most probably. After all, the newborn “Miss J Jones” or “Master S Smith” were too young to undo the parcels I posted to them. The infant Amy, or Brian, or Charlotte could not read the label that said their little sleep suit came “with much love” from a person who barely knew their parents and had not met them at all, but was nevertheless glad they had arrived safely in this horrible, wonderful, beautiful, terrible world and wished them well in it.
My mother was something of an enthusiast for buying “welcome to the world” presents for babies. Even for babies she only knew slightly, as it were. Not only friends’ and relations’ babies, but also friends’ relations’ babies and relations’ friends’ babies received a carefully chosen little present. So did any older siblings, so that they wouldn’t feel left out. Much of the value of the present was in the care with which it was chosen. (Or, after Mum had retired and become really very good at quilting, the care with which the quilt was made.)
We do learn from our parent’s behaviour, and I took this as “the right thing to do” and duly made and bought “Welcome to the world” presents in the same way. My mother was not a superstitious person, but even on occasions where she had made or purchased a present in advance, she didn’t give it before the baby had arrived. As she said to me, sometimes things do go wrong, and a pile of presents waiting for a baby who never did come home would add unnecessarily to great grief. I followed suit; the only present I sent before the baby’s birth was posted to Australia. (He was fine, in case you’re worried.)
As I went through my twenties and thirties, I bought a fair number of presents. What I lacked in money (or needlework ability), I tried to make up for in thought, imagination and time.
The first time there was a baby shower at work about six years ago, a number of us brought our presents in on the appointed day and we had biscuits and a slice of cake with our coffee towards the end of lunchbreak. Little items of clothing were unwrapped and admired. A little pair of dungarees from one, a tiny cardigan from another…..some colleagues had co-ordinated and bought matching tops and bottoms and socks. Although the colleague was better off than most of us, by a considerable margin, no-one was made to feel uncomfortable about their contribution, even if it was a far from prestigious brand. A few people had bought tokens. It was a low key affair. Not everyone attended (We can’t all have the same lunch break after all.) and there was no sense of it being a three line whip. (I hope this phrase is intelligible to non-UK readers, please let me know if not.)
Nowadays though …… Nowadays one is bombarded with e-mail reminders from about six weeks in advance of each event. It is mentioned in every staff briefing. The reminders include the name of member of staff to whom you should give your contribution. The expectant parent (mothers and fathers are treated equally) is to be delightfully surprised by this event - although with five this year alone, and some last year, I beg leave to doubt the degree of surprise. I’m not claiming to be ill-paid compared to my colleagues, but I have become acutely aware that my Other Half, essential though his work is, professional and dedicated though his attitude to his job is, does not earn as much as many of my colleagues Other Halves. Once upon a time this would not have mattered in the slightest to anyone. Now, I cannot help worrying that the appointed receiver of contributions will consider mine paltry and be offended on her friend’s behalf. And yes, even I, childless though I am, can imagine the fun of being able to choose things for your expected child and the pleasure of having everything to your taste and matching.
But has something along the way been lost? I couldn’t attend the first baby shower this year, for a newish colleague I hardly knew, because I was on duty. I didn’t have the time to track the “collecting” member of staff down to give my contribution, since that colleague arrived later and left earlier than I did. No longer is there the safe anonymity of a plain brown envelope in someone's pgeon hole, into which you slip your contribution discretely, not letting your left hand know what your right hand is doing. I certainly didn’t have the confidence to go and buy a little garment then or later. Suppose they were offended that it wasn’t more? Suppose they were offended by my lack of taste? They were sure not to get any pleasure from something so insignificant, I became convinced. And then, I’m ashamed to say, I made no effort to try to organise my work to attend the other baby showers, because I had discovered what a relief it had been not to be worried about the first one. I don’t suppose the prospective parents have minded in the slightest, actually. Perhaps they were even relieved not to have to pretend to be appreciative of a present that seems laughably cheap. I don’t expect the babies mind in the slightest either. They will already have enough for their material needs.
Am I just feeling sorry for myself? Most probably. After all, the newborn “Miss J Jones” or “Master S Smith” were too young to undo the parcels I posted to them. The infant Amy, or Brian, or Charlotte could not read the label that said their little sleep suit came “with much love” from a person who barely knew their parents and had not met them at all, but was nevertheless glad they had arrived safely in this horrible, wonderful, beautiful, terrible world and wished them well in it.