The Worst Gift

A few weeks ago, Jeff came home with a little gift bag given him by the executives at the bank. I was thrilled to open it...After all, why hold a high-profile job if you're not going to be romanced every once in awhile? In return for millions of dollars of business revenue, occasionally we are able to savor the perks. (Especially at Christmastime when the goodies come, but that's for another day.)

Elizabeth's almost-finished nursery is decorated in honey bees. It was my not-so-blatant way of incorporating Pooh without being so blase. At the time I planned this theme, I had no inkling of what baby might be residing there, so I thought it best to keep the colors neutral. I put up chair rail, painted above it in "Beeswax" yellow and below in "Billiard Room" green. I did five Pooh illustrations and then painted them in watercolors...thus bringing my favorite bear and his friends happily into the mix. I topped it off with a little Pooh and honey bee lamp and Uncle Mike's extravagant purchase of Pooh animals and "wha-la": almost-finished nursery.

I was thrilled when I opened the aforementioned bank gift and found something I had forced myself NOT to buy just the week before. Inside was a cute little Pooh keepsake for recording Baby's first handprint and footprint. The illustrated frames were tied together with ivory velvet ribbon. It was perfect for the wall space just inside her doorway. I promptly took the frames and hung them just where they should go.

Then I lost my nerve for actually doing the "printing." So, in the weeks that past, people would check out her nursery and comment, "Oh, look at Elizabeth's little prints! You did them perfectly! You even used green ink!" Umm, noooo. Those were the little example prints that came inside the frame. I should preface my printing anxiety with a debate I had with my mother, Peggy, around the third week of August.

My mother Peggy and my aunt Joan were excited to hold an open house for Elizabeth. They wanted to have a party where everyone could come, unlike a baby shower which is a literal no-man's-land. At the time of the planning, my mother was insistent that I do the invitations, what with my design experience and all. I hedged. The thought of creating a concept for open house invitations was completely beyond the limits of my current brain function. Feed Elizabeth, diaper Elizabeth, dress Elizabeth, entertain Elizabeth, walk Elizabeth, rock Elizabeth, cook, clean, do mountains of laundry, care for Sampson and Jasmine, answer the phone, answer the door, eat and finally, sleep...those things were within my current functioning ability.

Just when I was ready to have a conniption with my mother about what I did have time for, I happened along a 90%-off sale at the Hallmark Gold Crown store. (Which, of course, I was visiting to buy yet more thank-you notes.) There on the shelf were those "print-yourself" invitations for just a dollar a pack. There were pink ones with carousel horses and Pooh ones with Pooh drifting away on his balloon. I DID have time to whip up a simple text layout and print something, so I saw it as the perfect solution. I bought every single package they had available...I thought they'd be perfect for thank-you's as well.

No sooner had I brought them home did my mother give me the "look." Her ideas for invitations did not include pink carousel horses or floating Pooh bears. Even though she had insisted I design the invitations, she had a handprint theme in mind. I, of course, was incredulous. I was at the hospital when they did Elizabeth's official handprint and footprint. I couldn't help myself...I laughed in my mother's face.

She wanted to use Elizabeth to personally imprint each invitation, some thirty in all. She had purchased several bottles of "baby-safe" paint in primary colors. We'd do some in green, in red, in yellow, in blue... I put a stop to that. Even so, my mother kept trying to get me to agree to put her handprint somewhere on the invitations. So I compromised: "If you want handprints, you can have them. But I'm not having anything to do with it. It's all your project." Well, my mother blanched at that thought. So, no handprints on the invitations. Whew!

If you've ever tried to put a sock or shoe on a baby, you know they curl their toes and feet upon the first touch of cotton or leather. If shoes were easy to put on babies, there would be a multi-billion dollar baby shoe industry. I mean, who buys shoes? Women. Myself, I have more pairs than I can count. So who has babies? Women. If we could get those little shoes on those tiny piggies, someone would be rich, rich, rich. The reality is that baby shoes are relegated to a small little peg or rack in some corner of the infant department. And, none of them are remotely stylish.

I also read someplace recently that babies clench their fists until they start to gain more large motor development and they can start to process neurologically just what they're waving around in front of their faces. I believe that with all my heart: Elizabeth is a testament to the clenched fist. She puts them up to her face when she eats, most times causing a struggle to get the milk into her mouth. She waves her fists and arms around. She punches me every once in awhile. I told my mother she'd never get Elizabeth to cooperate...neatly...for thirty party invitations. I knew this, I'm sure my mother knew this, but who forgot to tell the manufacturer of the cute little Pooh frames?

The frames came with a handy little black ink pad, sized just right for little baby extremities. We decided to do her hand first, since we knew it would be the hardest job. Needless-to-say, our handprint looked nothing like the example included in the kit. It was off-center, smudged and definitely not neat. It took four hands to pry Elizabeth's fingers apart to put her hand on the ink pad, and four more to pry them back open for the print. We had to repeat the process not once, but three times to achieve the pathetic little print we deemed acceptable. Ink was everywhere. Fortunately, the footprint went much faster. Thank goodness! We had lost all our resolve by that point.

So, in my opinion, that gift sucked. Every time I walk into the nursery, I will be forever reminded that I couldn't manage to get my daughter's handprint. No matter how tempted I may be in the future, I will never buy another product to take infant handprints. No plaster or cement stone kits, no clay, no ink. Nothing. I will not subject another parent to that struggle. I would like to say this, though. That footprint is about the cutest thing ever.

Thanks, Fifth Third!