She's Crafty

I've officially found a new population of women that I don't understand... the crafty pregnant ones.

It's not so much that I have anything against people that spend time, precious energy, and money making a lot of useless stuff-- it's just that I don't get it. At all.

I mean, I can't figure out what in the world I would do with a styrofoam ring wrapped with ribbons with my kid's name on it. Or, how about the plaster casts of their pregnant boobs and belly? What do they do with those?... throw another few ribbons on it and hang it on the wall, of course. Add ribbons, a child's name, and tack it to the wall. This population's solution to everything.

I've heard one explanation for the styrofoam ring thing-- "so my family doesn't get lost looking for me in the hospital." This really doesn't say much for your family if you really think you require the dollar-store equivalent of a flashing neon sign to identify your room. Hospitals have been smart about this over the years-- I even hear they put numbers on the rooms now, so your poor frazzled family must only struggle to keep a number in their head from the time of arrival at the hospital to the time they reach your door.

So, let's be honest. The door hanger was for you. The plaster cast of your tits and swollen stomach with the ribbons on it? For you. Everyone else is chuckling behind your back just a little. Because, while we might still love you all the same, you've officially become one of those pregnant women whose world centers on their new child and in the absence of your child, you're now forcing us to ooh and aah at your child-focused art projects. So, while you may be loved, no one likes talking to you anymore. (Noticed that?)

I don't begrudge anyone anything, least of all something so harmless, but really... they've gotta know... each piece of silliness wrapped in bows, covered in glitter, and hammered into a wall or a door makes them just a little bit more annoying.