And this is why you should NEVER have a "surprise" baby shower for a woman who is eight months pregnant!

I hated being pregnant. I hated everything about it, from my ugly puffer belly, to the immediate interaction with a complete stranger when I wasn't in the mood to talk. But for me, the worst experience of all was a baby shower that I never wanted to have. So when a friend started telling me that I "needed to have a baby shower," I politely turned her down. 

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I hated being pregnant. I hated everything about it, from my ugly puffer belly, to the immediate interaction with a complete stranger when I wasn't in the mood to talk. But for me, the worst experience of all was a baby shower that I never wanted to have. So when a friend started telling me that I "needed to have a baby shower," I politely turned her down. 

Her: "But you HAVE to have a shower! Everyone has a shower!"

Me: "Everyone, but me. No thanks."

Her: "Oh come on... It'll be fun." 

Me: "Fun for you, not for me. NO THANK YOU!"

Her: "It doesn't have a to be a big deal. We can do it at my house! We'll have a blast! I know some really fun games we could play."

Me: *Cringe* "I don't like games. I don't want a shower. Please stop asking me."

She finally stopped, but the experience left an icky taste in my mouth that lead me to believe that she just couldn't be trusted. Score one for women's intuition.

When I was eight months pregnant, my mother came to visit and my hormones were on high alert. On top of just renovating and moving into our new beach house, I had just become aware of an economic demise that was about to come crashing down on our otherwise happy existence. And being eight months pregnant–in August, in FLORIDA, certainly didn't help matters much. Once she settled in, we started talking about baby showers and why I didn't want one. I explained why I hated being the center of attention and how uncomfortable the whole idea made me, especially since all of my friends were back home in Atlanta. 

And She understood. She always understood–even when she didn't agree.

At some point, we went over to see my aunt, who was in town visiting with her girlfriends for the week. They were a group of older women who have been friends since high school, and every year they would reunite to play cards, swap stories and empty all the liquor bottles. They were fun for a bunch of old birds, and we always made a point to stop by and see them whenever they were in town. I told them about our new house and all the hard work we had put into it. Then I invited them to come over sometime so they could see it. A few days later, my mother advised me that they would be coming at the end of the week, "We're going to need to get some wine and snacks to put out. Oh! And a cake!" 

"What the hell do we need a cake for?" I asked, "I don't want to have a party, I just thought it would be nice if they could see the new house!" My mother was insistent that we provide a wide array of snacks and beverages, "Well, we can't invite them over and not have food!" 

And she was right. 

The day of the not-party, was probably the worst I had felt my entire pregnancy. It was extremely humid outside and I just wasn't feeling right. I had all the energy of a tree with lips, and all I wanted to do was lie down. But we had to go shopping; you know... For the CAKE! We ended up at Costco, spending way more than we should have on a bunch of shit I couldn't eat because my unborn child had left no room in my belly for food. By the time we got home, it was time to get ready. I hadn't showered all day, nor did I feel like it; but I knew they were on their way over and I had to make myself look presentable. "Don't worry about it!" my mother advised, "Nobody gives a shit what you look like!" 

When I finally finished getting ready, I still didn't feel any better. I just wanted the day to be over and for everyone to be gone, and I was mad at myself for feeling that way. But what came next would open up a door to a world that no one ever should have seen–and they had no one to blame but themselves. 

I saw her walking up the driveway before I saw anyone else. "Mom! What are THEY doing here?" I said, pointing to the one person that should have known better–and her daughter. "Surprise!" cheered my mother, "Please don't be mad." But I wasn't mad, I was furious. There they were... A group of women from the gym who knew that I didn't want a baby shower. "I TOLD you that I didn't want a shower!" I screamed, storming out of the room. "I know, I'm sorry!" she smiled with a toothy, obnoxious grin, and proceeded to open up the front door to let in her herd of my uninvited guests. 

I went into my bedroom to cool down, but I couldn't. The hormones had taken over my entire body and it was clear... Lisa had left the building!

It was the worst fight that my mother and I ever had, and it almost resulted in her bags being packed. "You were SO rude!" she screamed. "I KNOW I was and I'm sorry, but I TOLD you that I didn't want a shower and you did it anyway! Why would you DO that? Not to mention, I'm eight months pregnant and had to schlep all that food around today when all I wanted to do was relax!" We argued back and forth, each of us making valid points, and neither of us willing to back down. But in the end, and underneath all of our anger, we loved each other way too much to let one stupid night ruin an entire relationship. So we did what we always did when we had a big fight; hugged, apologized, and promised never to do it again. 

And we didn't.

I lost a lot of relationships that night, and not because of me. I apologized to all the right people for my out-of-control behavior, but some of them just couldn't find it in their hearts to forgive. I guess some folks would rather be right, than be happy–and it makes me sad whenever I think about it. We all make mistakes; we're all human... But life is what you make of it, and if you can't find forgiveness in the darkest of days, then what's the point in being here? 

Forgive and forget and move on–life is way too short!

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