Shower faux pas

By Chi-Young Kim

On a chilly, breezy Sunday not long ago, I found myself standing in a stranger’s well-appointed living room, frantically scribbling stick figures on a whiteboard while a dozen women yelled at me.

It was my turn to draw and the others were trying to guess. This wasn’t some odd hazing ritual; I was at a baby shower. This women-only tradition, where those close to the mother-to-be come together to "shower” the pregnant woman with baby gifts, eat cake, and celebrate, is yet another very American rite of passage that both amuses and perplexes me.

I suppose a baby shower made more sense back in the day, when mothers were expected to be the primary caregivers, the internet (filled with all sorts of helpful and misleading advice) was non-existent, and new parents found out about baby gear from experienced friends and family.

Now, although young fathers are increasingly becoming as involved in their children’s day-to-day lives as mothers, blogs explode with tips on sleeping, feeding, swaddling, and parents-to-be have online gift registries, baby showers are more popular than ever; now people are even having "sprinkles” for second and subsequent pregnancies.

This particular shower was incredible. The host, the mother of a seven-month-old, made several dishes from scratch, including gougères and vichyssoise. Another guest made a delicious whipped cream-topped white cake with lemon curd. Everyone brought thoughtful gifts, such as a handmade quilt and a collection of classic children’s stories. The mother-to-be loved all the games. In addition to the drawing game, everyone wrote down a lullaby on pieces of paper, and the mother-to-be had to sing the first few lines of each song.

This event was my third shower, and this time I managed to bring appropriate gifts. The first one I went to was actually a "sip and see.” The baby was already five or six months old, and she was introduced with great fanfare to all of her mother’s and grandmother’s friends. I had the presence of mind to realize that I had to bring a gift; I even picked out a cute outfit at a baby store. What I forgot was the card. When I arrived, I saw the pile of presents in the corner, shrugged, and tossed mine on top. I’m pretty sure they never figured out which anonymous person gave their child an unseasonably warm dress in the wrong size.

The second shower I attended was for a distant friend. By this time, I had my own child and realized that all of the tiny adorable things you get at a baby shower are not very useful. I filled a generic brown paper bag with pumping parts, breast pads, pump bags, and tea that supposedly increased your milk supply. I was satisfied, because this time I had remembered to include a card. Somehow it never occurred to me that the whole point of traditional baby showers is opening all the gifts in front of the crowd.

As the radiant mother-to-be began opening beautifully wrapped presents, my stomach sank; everything was pink and beribboned and adorable. The women passed the presents around, oohing and ahhing, and I started to sweat a little. Not only had I stuffed a brown paper bag with the most unappealing gifts, I hadn’t even been able to buy an appropriate card. Content in my frugality, I had dug around for any old thing, which turned out to be a thank you card. And, in true oddball fashion, under the embossed "Thank You,” I had written: "for having this lovely baby, I can’t wait to meet her!”

I thought it was funny, but looking around the room filled with people I didn’t know who were clearly taking this very seriously, I realized that the women would be perplexed or possibly even horrified. Thankfully, the baby shower gods were on my side, and my gift disappeared. I swear this actually happened: one minute the bag was there, the next minute it was gone. I pulled the host aside before I left and asked her to make sure the bag didn’t get thrown away; there were some very useful things in there! Later, the mother-to-be emailed me to tell me that my bag appeared in her car among a bunch of other gifts, and she was gracious in thanking me. I’m convinced someone close to her spotted my bag and nudged it to the side to spare everyone the embarrassment.

Given my turbulent gift-giving history, I thought long and hard about this one. I again recycled a bag, but this time it was pristine and festooned with cute animals; although I couldn’t stop being practical (I included a snot sucking device), I ensured that I had something cute, too (a floppy hat); and, remembering the difficult early days when it was hard to even shovel cereal in my mouth, I added a note promising the delivery of a home-cooked meal.

This time, although my card wasn’t baby-oriented, it was at least elegant and visually appealing. I’m confident that I’ll manage to tie a bow around my present the next time I’m invited to a shower.

Chi-Young Kim is a literary translator based in Los Angeles. She has translated works by Shin Kyung-sook, Kim Young-ha, and Jo Kyung-ran. Contact her at chiyoung@chiyoungkim.com or via her website, chiyoungkim.com

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