What does one buy as baby shower gift for a woman who once called babies “little tumours”?

 

A very dear friend of mine has undergone some huge transformations lately, namely in the uterine region. Where there was once a regular declaration freedom dripping out of there, now snuggles a beating heart and, more importantly, the opportunity to craft a truly fantastic person. In an even bigger transformation, this woman is now having a baby shower. Yep. One of those gatherings where women get together and talk about infants and bundles of joy and “the journey of motherhood”. What makes it more fun? These kinds of occasions are generally dry, which isn’t my friend’s style. I mean, she had to be almost waterboarded to agree to it, but the fact that she’s having one is huge.

 

It’s less than a week away and I still haven’t bought a gift yet. Because, to be frank, I don’t know what to give her.

 

It’s always bloody confronting every time someone who is more than a casual acquaintance to me procreates, but this gestational period came as a particular shock. We used to spend out morning tea breaks almost saving the world with our conversation topics – climate change, the public health system, bushfire permits, breastfeeding etc. These sessions usually saw us “respectfully” disagree with one another, but always in good fun. What we did agree on, more often than not, was our stance on the production of people. Bratty kids, vaccinations, the merits of threatening little arseholes with a wooden spoon. We both had wild ideas about parenting being about forging good people, not having children just because it was the thing to do. Now, these conversations were some time ago, so I’m paraphrasing here, but there was one that featured this gem:

 

Dear Friend with Wild Ideas: They’re like cancers growing in there, really. They’re little tumours.

 

She wasn’t talking about the effect of selfie culture on modern society, she was talking about children.

 

Sure, she might have said it with hint of a joke, but the sentiment was there. So you’d be forgiven for thinking a person like this should be the last person to grow a little bambino. Hence my surprise of her baby news.

 

So I have had to think about what may have changed her mind on the practices of procreation. And I have to say that I can see the appeal. There’s the whole unconditional love thing. There’s also the fact that, if you play your cards right, you’ll be able to grow your own retirement care plan. Right now I’m watching my mother and her siblings band together as a support for my aging grandmother, and I have to say it would be nice to know I had a net of guilt and love to fall into when I whither away. Plus, and this is a big plus, you’re practically able to create your own best friend. It will take some time and a fucktonne of commitment but you’ll be able to fashion the ideal person to be your best mate. It’s like one of those grow your own dinosaur kits, where your womb is the cup of water and the water is thousands and thousands of dollars in school fees, grocery bills and horse riding lessons. And because, statistically speaking, these grow-your-own-besties will outlive you, you hopefully should have a BFF for life. That’s a sweet deal.

 

The other thing is knowing that you’re leaving your mark on this hateful rock we’re all floating around in space on. You do your best to turn out a good person to make it a better place here. And, despite her views about dolphins (she thinks they’re all plotting an uprising – like that episode of The Simpsons except she hasn’t seen it…) I reckon she’ll craft a non-shit human being.

 

So now that I’m looking back at it, it shouldn’t be that much of a shock.

 

This woman with her wild ideas and more than adequate knowledge of birth control is probably the ideal candidate for shaping and moulding a bunch of cells into a fully-fledged human being. That’s not me saying that every other bastard would be a shithouse mother; there are marvellous women out there of all ages and backgrounds with all kinds of views on whether farmers should have to apply for a fire permit bringing up wonderful children. I’m in awe of people who willingly sign themselves up to have their vaginas torn open and to be responsible for keeping something other than a plant alive.

 

What I’m saying is I don’t think you have to be the “mothering type” – whatever that is – to be a great parent. You don’t have to be a type at all. You just have to be a good enough person to try your best.

 

But where does this leave me on the gift front? Should I get her a tea towel saying “you’re not going to fuck this up”? A bottle of cancer-blocking sunscreen? A barrel of moonshine to drink away the pain of having a living being yanked out her birth canal? A book with 17 ways to turn placenta into a meaty summer cocktail?

 

At this stage the only idea I have is ribbon saying “I survived my baby shower”.

 

Suggestions are greatly appreciated at this point.