When I was very pregnant with G, my brother’s lovely wife threw me a baby shower. Since I was, and still am, a girl who bristles at the thought of a pastel-infused, game-filled, shower-type party, ours was a co-ed barbecue. The fellas watched sports upstairs while the women cooed over teeny tiny overalls, and nodded knowingly over gigantic boxes of diapers, and they made an appearance only after gifting was finished and cake was cut.
Because it was a baby shower/barbecue, we thought it was sooo clever to call it a baby barbecue. BYOB: Bring your own baby! Hahaha! No, we did not barbecue babies. We joked about it though. Hahaha. I am not the only person who thinks it was the best baby shower in the history of the world. It was awesome, and I’m not just saying that because all of the gifts were for me and I got to take the leftover cake home.
My mom and my best friend were in town for the event, as was my mom’s best friend, who also happens to be my best friend’s mom. Follow that? Mother-daughter best friend pairs. My friend really is the best, but she and I never really had a choice in our friendship. We’ve been stuck together since we were babies, and now we both have daughters that are the same age. Since before our girls were born, we’ve been prepping them. “You will be friends. You will love each other, whether you like it or not.” Three and a half years in, and so far, so good.
Now, when the four of us ladies get together, there is lots of laughing. Usually lots of drinking, too, but unfortunately for me, on this occasion I was cooking up a kid and was on the water. We were ready to go to the baby barbecue just killing time waiting for my husband to get home from a quick trip into the lab to feed his clones or cure cancer or something, and we were chatting in my kitchen. Someone said something funny just as I was taking a drink of my stupid water, and I swallowed wrong. I started choking and sputtering, while those three bitches just laughed harder, until I puked. I’m sure normally that wouldn’t have stopped the howling, but since I was extra super duper pregnant, they took pity. “Are you okay?!” my mom asked. My friend rubbed my back, while her mom grabbed some paper towels. I couldn’t answer, still coughing, and not done puking. I ran to the bathroom, fell to my knees and finished vomiting in the toilet, like a lady.
My humiliation wasn’t complete. The extreme force of the coughing and vomiting made me pee my pants. Not a little “Oh my goodness! I laughed so hard I piddled in my panties” action, but a full force, wish I would have been sitting on the toilet instead of hurling into it event.
The cute outfit I had carefully chosen for my very own baby shower was ruined. So was my pride. Walking out of the bathroom with drenched pants and a flushed face only made the women in the kitchen lose it again. I smiled sheepishly, and chuckled softly. I couldn’t laugh. My throat and chest hurt, I needed to change my clothes and brush my teeth, and we were going to be late.
I WAS late to the shower, and at first I wasn’t ready to tell everyone why. I shouldn’t have been so embarrassed. Some nameless party goers got so drunk at that baby shower, my pants wetting episode wasn’t even close to the most embarrassing thing that happened to someone that day.