I never thought Winter would be baby fever time, but it’s in full swing right now. Those around me who aren’t pregnant are talking about it and trying for it. Not a week goes by without at least one baby visit at the office, it’s like a damn Bugaboo traffic jam.
I’m feeling a bit isolated since I am not a reverent worshipper of the holy scent of the top-of-the-baby’s-head (although I do take the occasional whiff). They’re cute, I’ll give ’em that but my connection right now is more commercial than hormonal. Now that baby stuff isn’t automatically plastered with clowns and teddy bears, there is a lot of shopping fun to be had out there.
I had a blast a few weeks ago discovering the many contraptions invented to keep little boys from squirting you in the face when I was shopping for my nephew. Given the amount of times the baby boys in our social circle throw up, we should really be looking for some kind of cute contraption to contain that. Most recently Oliver’s godson was being held in the grocery store check out line when he threw up all over the conveyer belt. Well, I’ve had more luck with other things.
I was positively gleeful when I gifted my former boss with a little t-shirt with “Dingo Snack” emblazoned across the front, for her little boy rumored to have been conceived on an Australian vacation. (Not sure she got the joke though.) I was beaming with pride when my sister-in-law went for the Bebe au Lait Hooter Hiders I’d found to make it easier to breast feed in public. I’m still wracked with indecision about whether to buy the baby cowboy boots or the socks made to look like Birkenstocks with socks (German fashion crime of the century) for my nephew, once he’s big enough to fit into them. I am allowed to consider smartly funny baby shirts, but forbidden by my husband from truly expressing my sense of humor. He says if I wanna go that far, I have to make my own.
Maybe I can buy one.