Finally Friday, and it couldn’t come too soon. It had been a
long week. It was drizzling on the way into work (yet again).
Damion, one of the techs, and his wife had had twins a
little while back. Now, it was just during the time when Michelle was leaving
and Courtney coming on board, so we didn’t do anything to celebrate.
But they decided to have a surprise diaper party for him. I
had never even heard of such a thing, but everybody younger swore it was a real
thing, like a baby shower only after the baby arrived.
So, I bought a box of diapers on Thursday and, Friday
morning, stuck them into Courtney’s car. My boss had scheduled a tech team
meeting, conveniently at 11:30 a.m.
Sidebar: Damion is on-site at Building 73, so we needed to
lure him down to us.
Courtney made a reservation at Kicker’s and lugged the mound
of diapers over there. She arranged them on a table, wrapped them with crepe
paper ribbon and put some balloons on the table.
We showed up and then Jeff brought Damion, offering to buy
him lunch. He was actually surprised!
I had a cup of lobster bisque and a Philly cheese steak
sandwich with fries, none of which was memorable.
The winds had picked up, making the afternoon walk
uncomfortable.
And, when I got home after work, I saw that my driveway and
the front lawn were covered with more leaves! So much for my mulching…
I spent the early evening filling out the ToDo list, the
grocery list and the errand list, while listening to the news on the TV.
I made a batch of the chili mac & cheese for dinner and
ate about half of it.
I turned on the Red Wings game. They won and looked pretty
good doing it. Then I went to bed.
I'd only heard that term (diaper party) used once before and I believe it was there. I thought the customary gifts to the father were always booze and cigars because babies should be around neither.
ReplyDeleteI agree. I thought they crossed the line when they wanted fathers in the delivery room.
ReplyDeleteAs B___'s dad, Bud, used to say, "The world went to hell when they started sh*tting indoors and eating outside!"
I clearly remember Amy's birth. I was in a waiting room with a bunch of other fathers, all of us smoking cigarettes (you could do that in hospitals, back in the day) and pacing.
The doctor came out and his scrubs were covered in blood. I thought, "Oh shit, Fran died!" But he said, "John, you have a daughter!"
Now, Melissa was another matter. She was born downstairs in the same hospital I was upstairs in Intensive Care. They came in and told me I had a daughter and her name was something weird. I said, "No its not, its Melissa Marlene!"
Sidebar: Melissa, maybe it was the morphine drip, but I swear that was the name your Mom and I agreed to.
Anyway, they changed her name and I've gotten sh*t about it ever since. Apparently, dying grants you special privileges, but is unrecognized my your children.
But,by the time your brother and you came along, times had changed. I was "supposed" to be in there and watch. I blame it on the feminist movement. I didn't think I needed to watch (I'd rather be waiting, smoking cigarettes) but "woman power" decreed I needed to watch.
Sidebar: Okay, I get it. I did that, so I should watch.
But, trust me, it wasn't as pretty as I imagined and "the miracle of birth" I experienced with Amy was definitely tainted by the reality of my boy's birth.
And, "diaper parties"? Give me a break. We all used cloth diapers, back in the day