I love babies. And I love parties. So it may seem odd that there is nothing that makes my blood boil more than gender-reveal parties. For the uninitiated, here's how it generally goes down: An expectant couple leaves a sonogram appointment with a sealed envelope containing their future baby's gender. The envelope is delivered to a bakery, which produces a cake with either blue or pink filling. The couple invites everyone they know to cut the cake and find out if they're expecting a boy or girl. Innocent enough, right? Wrong. In this age of rampant bridezilla-ism and ubiquitous oversharing, people live under the false assumption that what is important to me must automatically be important to everyone I know. There was a time not long ago when publishing a picture of your mediocre-looking grilled cheese sandwich for your 600 friends to admire would have been considered insane. Now it is commonplace. And yet I would look at photos of crummy diner food all day before I would ever attend a gender-reveal party.
The typical timeframe for a gender-reveal party is around the halfway mark of a pregnancy. So call it superstition, call it tempting fate, or call it counting your chickens before they've hatched, but one thing is clear — there are still months to go before the fat lady sings. I'm not a negative person and I don't advocate spending a pregnancy living in fear. But I know too many people whose pregnancies were perfect … until they weren't. I believe that a couple should leave a healthy anatomy scan filled with gratitude that everything is going according to plan so far, instead of discussing the décor for the Pinterest-perfect party they'll throw for their unborn baby. I know that sounds overly idealistic, but I just can't believe that our society has reached the point where the appropriate time to celebrate a baby is five months before it is born.
I am equally dumbfounded by people thinking that whether a boy or a girl is on its way is considered newsworthy to anyone other the expectant parents. I know this sounds terrible, but quite frankly, nobody cares. I consider myself lucky to have many close friends. And I can't imagine asking any of them to set aside a Sunday to participate in something so self-centered. Not my friends who have kids, and have already been there and done that. And definitely not my friends who don't have kids. And my single friends? Never.
My sister underwent seven long years struggling with infertility before finally giving birth to my nephew. During that time, she attended an endless string of brises, christenings, first birthday parties, second birthday parties — hell, even a bar mitzvah or two. She celebrated all these events with an unearthly amount of strength, grace, genuine joy, and faith that one day it would be her turn. During that brutal period of time, she never begrudged anyone their good news. But if anyone had asked her to come jump up and down over the sex of their fetus, I think her head would have exploded. And rightfully so.
If people stopped for a second to think about someone other than themselves and what is going on in their own lives, they might realize the insensitivity of inviting their friends and family over to receive news that would be perfectly appropriate to deliver via text message. Do I sound bitter? Because I'm not. What I am is very grateful. I'm grateful to have been blessed with healthy kids of my own, and to have family and friends who love them. And when someone — pretty much anyone — else welcomes their own new addition into this world, I am nothing short of overjoyed.
When there's actually something to celebrate, I'll be the first one to put on my party hat. I'll teach you my no-fail swaddling technique and drop off a home-cooked meal for your family, as I have done for countless friends and neighbors. But for now, the only gender reveal party I'm interested in attending ends with an ecstatic husband (or wife) bursting through the hospital's waiting room doors with good news.
