Future Husband, Don’t Mess with the Dino

Dear Future Husband,
It’s almost October, which means it’s almost the month of my birth. As a result, I think this is a GREAT time to tell you about my dinosaur obsession.

That I had when I was three years old.

Actually, that I had when I was two-and-three-quarters-years-old and in the midst of birthday party planning.

I have NO idea where my dino love originated, but my toddler self made it 100% clear to my mother that I wanted a dinosaur-themed shindig. And, of course, as the sole center of my mother’s world (Sheesa was still in the womb at this time), she (probably questioningly) obliged.

So, my mother and I meandered to the one and only (and incredibly expensive) party store in town to collect dino napkins, plates, party bags and any other prehistoric elements we could find. The perusing was going well UNTIL something bright and colorful caught my eye: the piñata aisle.

I have to admit, my two-and-three-quarters-year-old self did not truly understand the meaning of “theme” and couldn’t comprehend that piñatas didn’t belong in the mesozoic era. ALL I knew was piñatas were pretty. And I wanted one – a DINOSAUR one.

Now, I have to hand it to my mother. This was long before the days of Etsy and online shopping (and the Internet in general), so you couldn’t just surf the web to find whatever item you wanted themed to whatever theme you wanted. You either bought what was available OR made it at home (with no step-by-step Pinterest guide). Well, there wasn’t a dinosaur piñata to be found, so the crafting began.

I actually remember making that paper mache brachiosaurus piñata on the kitchen table. We soaked strips of newspaper in glue and then covered a balloon with SO. MANY. LAYERS. Then, we attached toilet paper rolls for the legs and paper towel rolls for the neck and tail. And finally, painted it green. It was spectacular.

As I OOOed and AWWWed over my BEAUTIFUL dinosaur, my mother, in THAT moment, had a disturbing revelation: Her two-and-three-quarters-year-old daughter had absolutely ZERO idea what the fate of that piñata would be…

So, she sat me down and explained that we were going to beat my beautiful and perfect dinosaur to a pulp with sticks until it bled candy.

Just kidding.

I’m clearly a well-functioning adult, so I’m sure she found a less violent and traumatic explanation. But, the point being – I got the point.

My mother says that my eyes got SUPER big, and I ADAMANTLY stated that “NO ONE was going to hit MY dinosaur with a stick!”

So, after ALL that, there was no dinosaur piñata at my third birthday party. But there WAS a beautiful brachiosaurus table centerpiece.

PS. The minute my party was over, I outgrew my dinosaur obsession. You’re welcome. Or, pending your love for dinos, I’m sorry.

Xoxo,
Ima Waitin

Future Husband, Don’t Mess with the Dino

Future Husband, Time To Reveal

Dear Future Husband,
If your social media accounts are anything like mine, they are probably flooded with posts, pictures and videos from the new-ish party phenomenon thrown by millennial preggos* and their hubbies – the gender reveal.

*Yes, I just referred to pregnant ladies as “preggos.” I, personally, don’t think it’s offensive, but this IS 2016 (and I’ve never been pregnant…) So, I’ll apologize in advance. I’m sorry. HOWEVER, I’m actually considering posting “my eggo’s been preggo-ed” to announce that we’re expecting one day. You’re allowed to veto (but you have to agree it’s stinkin’ clever).

Anyway, after watching a MILLION and ONE videos of couples biting into cupcakes, slicing cakes, releasing balloons, popping balloons, punting footballs, hitting baseballs, shooting targets or whatever creative method they choose, I began to realize…the reaction is ALWAYS the same. It usually involves cheering – nay screaming – a lot of jumping and oftentimes tears.

And I have the following questions:

1. Why is everyone SO surprised? I mean, there is a 100% chance that the result is either boy or girl. I’d agree that the screaming would be warranted if the announcement was that newly revealed baby girl would exit the womb holding a billion dollars…but…

2. Should a pregnant lady REALLY be jumping like that?

3. How is it that I’ve watched a million of these videos and not been invited to a single one?

But, alas, I continue to watch them…while secretly waiting for reveal that breaks the mold:

Couple bites into cupcake to reveal blue icing. Husband looks at wife and says, “Well dang. Try again in 9 months?”
or
Balloon pops to reveal yellow confetti with a note: “Your baby will inform you of its chosen gender in roughly 15 years. SURPRISE!”

Also, I’d like to point out that I’m pretty sure gender reveal parties back in the day were simply called “giving birth.” But whatever. I’m all for one more reason to celebrate and eat cake.

PS. If this is still a “thing” by the time we have kids, we’re totally doing it.
PSS. Remind me of this post when I INEVITABLY scream and cry…I probably won’t jump.

Xoxo,
Ima Waitin

Future Husband, Time To Reveal

Future Husband, I Left Empty Handed

Dear Future Husband,
I was shopping the other day and came across THE. BEST. SALE. EVER. (At least it will be titled as such until I “stumble” across the next one…) There were SO many cute clothes for ridiculously cheap prices.

For some reason, I ended up in the children’s section. Let’s just say that I was “looking for all of my friends’ kiddos.” Anyway, I picked up the sweetest, tiniest polo for a little boy. Age 2. And I wanted it. Nay, NEEDED it. Because there was only one left.

As I held precious polo in my hands, the following thought process ensued:

“Wouldn’t this just be ADORABLE on future 2-year-old baby boy?!”
“I’ll never be able to find something similar at THIS price again!”
“I should start buying children’s clothes so that when the time comes, I’ll be set!”
“GOSH, I’m SO smart and will save SO much money!”

Then came the NEXT round of thoughts:

“Wait.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“What if future baby boy is ACTUALLY future baby GIRL?”
“I better look at the girls’ clothing instead.”
“OMG…THIS DRESS IS DARLING!”

Then, finally:

“Ima…time for REAL talk.”
“First, STOP talking to yourself.”
“Second, YOU HAVE NO FUTURE CHILDREN.”
“Heck, you don’t even have FUTURE HUSBAND.”
“Put down precious polo AND darling dress and slowly walk away.”
“Now, let’s re-focus this energy on future boyfriend…”

So, I ended the shopping spree in the men’s department. And went home empty-handed. Womp womp.

PS. I didn’t ACTUALLY go home empty-handed. I bought a shirt. For MYSELF. For $10. SCORE!

Xoxo,
Ima Waitin

Future Husband, I Left Empty Handed