My mom and older sister organized a baby shower for me at our house this weekend. It was at points overwhelming to see all these people I love in my house. I wanted to lock the door so no more people I loved would come in because if they did then I might explode. I couldn’t believe that people even remembered to come, and brought gifts for the coming baby, and stayed for hours to talk to strangers and listen to my dad tell them to save ten percent. It was elegant and beautiful and comfortable and really fun, and we kept partying long after we thought we would. After some feelings of loneliness the week before, it was just so amazing to see that we really aren’t alone and that there are so many people who already care for this baby and for us. Looking around at everyone, I felt completely sure that the baby would turn out okay, with a community as beautiful as the one I have around me.
My dad said the day before the party that we needed a balloon to help people find their way. I pictured a tiny blue balloon sagging from a string on our mailbox, but he went out with Steve and came back with the most massive balloon. BABY SHOWER, it says on the shape of a rattle, waving above the mailbox, letting all the neighbors know without a doubt that actually I’m pregnant like they may have suspected. Steve tried to convince my dad to get a small, discrete balloon, but my dad insisted. He said he wanted me to know that he supported me. He was so proud of it, he went outside after the party and took this picture himself.