Gender Revealing Parties and Things of That Ilk

This looks like a nightmare.

Society has gotten a bit out of hand with the parties these days. Seriously. No, this is not another fist-shaking, get-off-my-lawn edition of Matt and me being prematurely curmudgeonly, this is just a legitimate plea to knock it off—or at least not invite me.

I was at one of my jobs the other day, where I am a waitress in a midlevel chain restaurant (more on this place with so much spectacular reality show potential later) when my manager walked in wearing head-to-toe (literally) blue. We greeted her from the expo line and she sourly told us she had just come from a gender revealing party. I gave my most quizzical expression. A what??? I was imagining some sort of post-transgender surgery celebration. No. This lovely little gathering was to commemorate the occasion of my boss’s friends learning the gender of their unborn child.

You read that correctly.

To me, this seems like another excuse to have people come over your house and bring you a bunch of garbage you don’t feel like spending money on yourself, only this time it can be from Target’s gender neutral children section so that you can cultivate a non-gendered child while simultaneously letting everyone know which sex it will be born as.

When I was in second grade, my mum took me (and my sister two years later) to get First Holy Communion photos taken. Me, in my dress and veil and white shoes (which, admittedly, I was excited to wear more than just the one day), rosary in hand, looking pensive amid clouds or on a kneeler or whatever. I was 8. I remember thinking it was fun, but I didn’t really see the point. #growingupcatholic, for real.

Senior pictures were another thing I didn’t quite understand. I walked in to the photographer’s place and shared that I didn’t want any pictures of me gazing stupidly into the distance or leaning against a tree, and I didn’t even bring a change of clothes because what is the point? I had like five shirts apart from my school uniform and I wasn’t into fashion shows. The most exciting I got was when she told me my hair had “a lot of movement” and blew a fan on me—the ensuing image of me laughing is the one my mum selected to enlarge and display in the living room.

 I knew these pictures, like Communion pictures, were just events I had to partake in, as I would with a bridal shower, a bachelorette party, a wedding, and a baby shower. As of 8 years ago, this was it. Those were the awkward events in which I would be on display for people and as long as I could make it through those, I would survive (I’m not being dramatic—my friend recently got married and shared wedding photos of the bridal party walking in to the reception. You can literally see me blushing, immortalized on film).

Not so anymore. My cousins got married a couple of years ago and they each had engagement parties. ENGAGEMENT PARTIES. Hey, we got engaged, let’s celebrate. That happens later, I swear. That’s what weddings are. Let’s not even talk about bridal showers or the ever-increasingly ridiculous and expensive bachelor/bachelorette parties, complete with trips to Vegas and headbands featuring glowing, glittering bits of male anatomy wobbling from the top. Pass.

Baby showers equal people bringing you diapers and cribs and baby clothes and baby toys and baby books. That event is specifically set aside for you to garner as many child-related items as possible to somewhat assuage the lifelong expense of having a child. That’s fine. I can get behind that. Not gender-revealing parties. I don’t even know what goes on there because I was too flabbergasted by the existence of this that I couldn’t even sputter out any further questions.

In that same realm, there are pregnancy photos, newborn photos, and engagement photos. The pregnancy photos are usually sappy black and white images of the expectant mother looking down and tenderly cradling her tummy, gracefully dressed in a dress and heels. This is the same mother I will see posting pictures of herself on Facebook in a sports bra and showcasing her bare tummy, or roaming around in the summer wearing a crop top along with her baby belly poking out. Time and a place, folks. I don’t want backlash about body shaming or any of that nonsense, either, but when you have just had a baby, I don’t care about all the pictures of your postpartum stretch marks. I give you kudos for carrying and bearing a child and I’m not saying you shouldn’t love your body in all its various forms, I just don’t need to see pictures of your body all over the internet, whether you have stretch marks or a six pack. People need to keep some things private and have a little decorum, seriously.

I can guarantee, humble readership, that if you pass along a senior picture I will keep it for the allotted time, I will attend your weddings and baby showers, but if you even contemplate inviting me to a gender-revealing party or anything of that ilk, you can feel free to remove me from all future invite lists as well.