It has been raining in Athens for approximately a week. Now, we Athenians can't really complain too much about our dreary rain situation since our Atlanta neighbors to the west are flooding and sinkhole-ing and generally experiencing much worse side effects from the rain than we are, but still. Constant grey skies and intermittent deluges have a way of bringing a person down. Especially when you check weather.com and see that it is supposed to stay that way for another week. That just stinks.
But fortunately there are other kinds of showers that have a much brighter, happier connotation and I have also been inundated with those! This past weekend was my second baby shower, hosted by my aunt Jane and my middle sister Chelsea, both of whom are exceptional hostesses. The food was amazing, the house was sparkling (but then... Jane's house is ALWAYS clean), the drinks were festive and kept full, and the gifts were piled in pretty stacks on the dining room table. And let me tell you, you don't know gifts until you've had a baby shower. I guess maybe it's comparable to Christmas for a 5 year old, where you unwrap and unwrap and ooh and aah and exclaim, and then realize when you finish that you are trapped inside a semi-circle of bags, tissue paper, and loot. And while the gifts are fabulous in their own right, it really is an amazing experience to be the recipient of not only so much STUFF, but so much love and support and encouragement. All of the people circled around me, some of whom had traveled for hours just to be there, were beaming just as hugely as I was each time I pulled out a cute little outfit or a basket full of baby shampoos and soaps. And each card exclaimed just how happy the gift-giver was for Joe and me and our baby-to-be, and what good parents we are going to make. I hope they understand that part of our ability as parents will stem from having them all behind us instilling confidence, offering advice, extending help when we need it. And of course, for giving us so much before the baby is even here!
When Joe and I were both home together that night, I gave him a tour through the boxes and bags, telling stories of who gave what and why. He got to work assembling the bookshelf and the pack n' play (nesting, I tell you) while I sorted and folded tiny shirts and pants and socks and placed them into drawers.
"How much more do we really need?" he asked, surveying the pile at my feet.
And while I knew he was referring to things still left on my registries, or newborn diapers, or tiny socks, I couldn't help but think that, really, he's right to ask. Because when you get right down to it, we don't need anything else at all.
But it would be nice if it stopped raining.