Baby showers seem to be for everyone but me. I can chat easily with my aunt’s friend, thanks to my dad’s knack for conversation. My daughter was busy playing, and when her friend noticed her round little bottom, I explained we use cloth diapers. This sparked a nostalgic chat about how she used cloth back in the ’70s and how her daughter struggles to find affordable disposables that don’t cause rashes.
I smiled and nodded, but then she hit me with, “And baby showers can be such a hassle! You end up with heaps of diapers, just hoping they fit your kids!” I responded, “Well, we didn’t have that problem.”
When I was pregnant with my first daughter, my (male) best friend and his wife tried to throw me a shower. It was a flop—only one person showed up. I don’t have a large circle of friends, and most of the few I had didn’t have kids at the time. They all had their reasons for not attending, and it stung. My office, mostly women, completely forgot to plan anything, scrambling at the last minute when they realized it was my last day.
Now, with my second baby on the way and my best friend back in New York, I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for two years, and many of those kid-free friendships have faded away. I never expected a shower this time around, but you wouldn’t know that from the outside. I’m a 31-year-old mom-to-be who posts cute bump pictures on social media like everyone else. Showers are the norm—even for second-time moms! I recently attended a surprise sprinkle for another mom, and I’ve seen others celebrating with “light showers,” diaper showers, or meal showers (where friends prep freezer meals for the mom).
It seems everyone assumes all pregnant women get celebrated. So, what happens when those showers don’t happen? A desert forms… or you learn to water it yourself.
For a long time, I let that desert grow. I felt parched and cracked, and honestly, I still do sometimes. But I’m learning to take care of myself. It’s my baby, after all. We don’t need gifts; what I crave is celebration. I want my children to be recognized for the miracles they are, and I can do that myself. Sure, there might not be balloons or cupcakes, but it’s possible.
I’m releasing the notion that a party equals love. Not every mom gets a shower. Most mothers around the world aren’t like American friends who gather for mocktails and cake pops. I’m letting go of the sting that comes from seeing invitations and happy photos on social media. Not every person is intentionally causing me pain; it’s just how life is.
I’m also shedding the expectation that everyone can give me the closeness and effort I need. It’s unrealistic to assume they can. I often struggle to manage my own needs while caring for my daughter, so why should I expect others to be any better?
Instead, I’m going to celebrate myself. I made a person! That’s incredible. I created every single cell of my baby’s body, and I deserve to throw myself a party. I may feel lonely, but I’m doing something remarkable.
So, I’ll shower myself—not with things we can’t afford and probably don’t need, but with grace, compassion, and love for this body that’s built a family from scratch. If you’re looking for resources related to conception, check out Make A Mom for at-home insemination options or learn more about how it works here. Also, if you’re interested in products, consider their Cryobaby Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit or their At Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit. For pregnancy resources, March of Dimes is a fantastic site to help you navigate this journey.
In the end, it’s about celebrating the life growing inside of me and recognizing my worth as a mother.
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