Recently I attended a surprise baby shower. I must confess that anytime a highly-pregnant woman is being targeted for a significant surprise, I'm a tad cautious. A small part of me recognizes that it we're too successful, we might end up with a bigger surprise on our hands.
It all worked out. My friend was blessed and the shock didn't trigger any contractions. Win-win.
The week before the party I spoke with the hostess. She explained her plan for a relaxed evening. We'll do a bit of a spa theme, she mentioned. I was down with this.
And then I showed up. I was more than down with it.
Upon entry guests were given a warm towel and a decorated water bottle. Rose petals and votive candles adorned the foyer of her house, directing you toward the kitchen were stations were set up to create your own sugar scrub, get a pariffan wax hand treatment, and have your nails manicured. The dining room held an impressive spread of food.
As I listened to the spa music in the background -- music that conjured thoughts of delicate wind chimes, a soothing breeze blowing through tall grasses, chanting monks, and distant humpback whales -- I secretly I began to feel as if the party was for me.
Then the doorbell rang, clinching this particular shower's superiority over all the showers I've ever attended in the past (and perhaps ever will attend in the future.) It was a masseuse. She carried her portable massage chair into the living room and invited each guest for a ten-minute massage.
It was at this point that I looked at my pregnant friend and thought this:
My dear, dear friend. Thank you for this pregnancy. Could you please continue to have significant life events that would cause people to throw parties for you?
I'm so in.