Trapped Like Jonah in the Belly of the Whale

This whole baby thing is just an excuse for women to play dress up with baby dolls again.

We already have more than 30 outfits for Sydney. I am pretty sure none of them were purchased by a man. My wife just bought a Halloween outfit that declares Sydney the “Prettiest Pumpkin in the Patch.” Halloween is more than two months away. Babies are pretty much home-bound creatures. Sydney likely will not even leave the house that day.…who will see it? That’s $8 – a six pack – down the drain.

I suspect babies grow fast. She might grow out of some of these outfits before she even tries them on. But this is what women do; they play dress up with babies. They mix and match like they are dressing Lady Gaga.  

All a baby really needs is a diaper and a t-shirt. In the winter, they need some long johns and a winter coat. I’d be happy to let her run around naked until she is 3 or 4. It would save me a lot of money.

These baby showers epitomize the idea of treating your baby like a Malibu Barbie. A bunch of women get together and ooh and ahh over these little outfits that would fit snugly on a Chihuahua. It is like they are all six years old again.

I hate baby showers. Those “couples” showers drive me insane. Whenever I am invited to one of those, I curse the man for letting his wife talk him into it. What a puny little girlie man.

We’ve had three showers. One was thrown by my wife’s family, in Minneapolis. I had no choice but to avoid that one. I need all my vacation days for when my daughter comes.

The second was thrown by her teacher friends after school. A small, intimate gathering. Again, easy for me to miss.

The third one ensnared me like Johah in the belly of the whale. I had no choice but to attend.

My team at work planned a surprise shower for me. I am still not sure how they did it without me knowing. I’m a pretty smart guy and take pride in my ability to sniff out nefarious activity. I have probably only truly been surprised twice in my adult life, once at my 30^th birthday party and now at this shower.

My assistant, who absolutely knew I would not go along with a shower and would have quickly snipped that umbilical cord had I known about it, put it on my calendar as a meeting. I fully expected to discuss a customer service issue. Instead, I walked into a room with 20 women yelling “Surprise!,” a cake and loads of presents.

For the next half hour, I awkwardly opened presents while women oohed and ahhed. I felt like a lingerie model at a Paris fashion show. I was on display.

Don’t get me wrong. I am extremely thankful. These are good people who have good hearts. I’m fortunate to work with such quality folks. Plus, I got a lot of free diapers out of it.

But I don’t really like the focus on me. And I don’t know a onesie from a romper. So I was a little embarrassed by the intense spotlight as I tried to figure out if I was holding something she would wear on her top or bottom.

My wife was invited and she loved it. Of course. She received more outfits to play dress up. More importantly, she got to see me squirm like an unsuspecting scumbag on Dateline’s To Catch a Predator .

That’s fine. If she wants to treat Sydney like an American Girl doll, she can be in charge of all clothing choices. I’ll kindly back out and let her handle ALL onesies, rompers, diapers, pajamas, gowns, diapers, dresses, snap shirts, diapers, socks, shoes, diapers, coats, hats and diapers. I promise to never tread on her territory.