I’ve mentioned before that Chris is throwing me a non-baby shower this weekend. It was his idea. He was so excited about having a baby that he wanted all of our friends to get together at our house for food, drinks, and a rootin’ tootin’ good time (the rootin’ tootin’ part was my idea). So, this big event is on Saturday.
In our house, I am the party planner. I am the social director. I am the planner, the list-maker, the organizer. Chris has a much more laissez faire attitude (read: doesn’t-give-a-crap attitude). He shows up usually when I tell him to show up wearing usually what I’ve told him to wear and he smiles and nods and in return I give him beer and food. It sounds a little harsh, but its what works for us.
This is why I’m having a hard time with the non-baby shower on Saturday. I have no control. I have been given strict instructions by Chris to shut up, sit down, and have a good time. I’m not allowed to help with the menu or the music or the selection of meatballs that will be served. (Meatballs were my one special request.) I am the Guest of Honor and, therefore, must stay out of Chris’ way.
Having some issues with this, I’ll be honest. Like when Chris picked out a sushi platter of 25 pieces from our favorite sushi restaurant to serve to 25 people, I had to literally walk away before I yelled out, “IT’S NOT ENOUGH FOOD!” Or when he came home the other night from work looking so proud because he stopped by the grocery store and ordered a cake. I had to stuff my face with Bagel Bites in order to keep from grilling him as to the size, shape, color scheme, etc. But I didn’t. I sat down, shut up, and tried to enjoy my snack.
I’m a control freak and I’m out of control. This makes me a freak with no mission. I’m a footloose freak. And its driving me crazy.
But last night, when Chris got home from work he had the biggest smile on his face and I knew he was up to something.
“I stopped by the store on my way home from work today,” he said.
He showed me these 3 little white onesies that he had bought the baby and the pack of brightly colored fabric paint he had gotten so that the guests could help decorate them. The thoughtfulness of it was just adorable.
“And,” he said, reaching further into his bag, “I bought the Bean an outfit.”
He pulled out a little dinosaur shirt with matching shorts. The cutest thing ever. Then again, he could have pulled out a brown paper bag and if he had told me that he himself had picked it out for the baby I still would have thought it was the cutest thing ever.
So, maybe this non-baby shower thing is under control. Maybe he’s more capable than I originally expected. Maybe I need to sit down, shut up, and enjoy myself more. Because it seems that my husband is wearing his party planning badge loud and proud.
…But I don’t care what he says. I’m still dressing him for the party.