Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks


Snippets from a Baby Shower

I strode into the Baby Gap and made the all-too-familiar “newborn” section. Another Saturday, another baby shower. Petit fours, punch and pretend excitement over Diaper Genies and baby bottles. (When you are a single lady like myself, the only joy from events like the baby shower of one of many family friends is that you can expect presents on the occasion of your own impregnation.) My fingers ran over the soft fabric of the clothes in light blues, light greens and yellows. A white onesie with palm trees and a collar caught my eye. Baby’s first polo. As my little sister says, “You gotta get ‘em preppy early.” Seeing as they were on sale and I have an adorable baby boy cousin who clearly needs some preppiness in his life, I decided I should get two. I am in hot pursuit of the title of “World’s Greatest Cousin/Babysitter” with my sister and another female cousin a few years younger than I am (big Catholic family!). I simply had to get a palm tree polo for my little sweetie, who loves to cuddle up next to me and dance with me and giggle and smile when I sing to him. I had the saleswoman check in the back for another identical outfit so I could buy both. “Oh, it must be so fun having twins,” she exclaimed. “Excuse me?” I looked up accusingly from the stack of blankets I was picking through. “You’re getting two in the same size. Twin boys?” “No. Two baby boys. Unrelated to each other.” I paused. “I just really like the outfit.” --- The sugary-sweet smell of buttercream frosting wafted through the air as I made my way through women in pink capri pants and sequined flip flops. I slid my purse under a table, smoothed my skirt and grabbed some sort of punch with frozen berries in it. The gift opening was starting. The Mom to Be passed gifts around while women felt everything, gawked over its cuteness and discussed the importance of having a grocery store cart cover to protect the baby from germs. “It’s a swaddling blanket,” the woman next to me said, passing me a mint green blanket in a plastic pouch. I’d been daydreaming about drinks with the girls later that night. The single girls. The ones without kids and strollers. The talk of swaddling blankets snapped me back into reality. Were we talking about Jesus or something? “Excuse me?” “It’s a swaddling blanket,” the woman said again, knowingly. “You wrap the baby in it so that he feels like he’s in the womb.” I looked at the directions. “So the baby can’t move?” “Why would the baby need to move?” My mom chimed in. “It really is the new thing,” she said. “Your cousin loved in when he was first born.” I eyed the blanket suspiciously and paused before I spoke. “Shades of a straight jacket, if you ask me.” --- “How old do you think she is?” My mom motioned to someone’s new wife, who was sitting across the room from us, as she asked. “I don’t know, Mom. Mid thirties? No older than 35?” “That old?” “Yes, well, maybe not. You would think that by 35 she’d learn that it doesn’t matter if you wear a nude-colored bra if the shirt on top of it is lime green lace and transparent.” My mom covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Which number wife is she?” Mom asked, trying to change the subject from her poor fashion choices. “I don’t know, but the way he’s going, I’m about in the correct age range to be his next.” “[Charming!]” “I’m just saying, Mom. A girl’s gotta have goals.” --- Mom leaned over and asked, “What’s with all of the little blankets with animal heads on them?” A woman in front of us turned around and scowled, “It’s a security blanket!” I looked at Mom. “Apparently, the little boy needs a security blanket,” I said. My mom passed the blanket on. “Well, it’s not like it is big enough to wrap the baby in or anything.” “Security blanket, my ass,” I whispered to my mom. “Making babies clingy and codependent before they can even walk.”



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Charming, but single is 25 26 27(!), lives in the Southern part of the U.S.A. and likes both her drinks and her boys tall. E-mail (listed below) her and she may respond. You can also IM her in AIM/AOL. (If she ever remembers to sign on.)
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Former taglines of this blog: "A Journal in Dates and Drinks" and "A Dateless Journal of Drinking."




Those Particulars
Some Backstory
Memories of the Way We Were
Updates and Towel Snapping
One Year Wrap-Up
Just As She Is
An Open Letter to Myself
After 26 years, she HAS learned something
An Open Letter to the Men Who Message Me Through Match
Sharing a smoke



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