One week until the shower, and I’m pretty sure that my prediction that all of our friends would show up with booze or other equally entertaining but inappropriate gifts will come true. Everyone told me I had to register, which I had resisted mightily because it seems like you’re only throwing a party to get loot, but I did finally. Now that the registry is up, everyone is asking if they can get punk rock baby clothes. What am I going to say? No, you should really get us that changing pad like we asked? Bo-rrrring!

(Although I must admit a little trepidation at dressing the kid in “Born to Suck Titty.” I’m crass, but must I afflict the helpless wee one at such a tender age?)

Also, the husband and I were sitting at the table and I was going through my usual whining when we’re getting close to having a party. And then I stopped and said, “It’s not the parties I like to have–they just stress me out–it’s something else….” To which my husband replied, “You just like to design the invitations.”

You know, there’s a lot of truth to that. If I could just plan lots of events but never have them, I would be pretty happy.

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