Sinead Corcoran Dye: ‘Baby showers are not a good time but I still want one’

It's all fun and games until you have to throw a baby shower. Photo / Sylvie Whinray

Are baby showers a bit wet? Maybe, but Sinead wants one anyway.

If you’ve never been to a baby shower, I’ll paint you a picture. Instead of doing your weekly grocery shopping, a mountain of laundry or catching up on Vanderpump Rules, you have to sacrifice your precious Sunday afternoon to celebrate your friend’s life choices. It would be absolutely fine and dandy if the event involved eating burrata and slamming Aperol spritzes in a sunny garden bar – but a baby shower is usually held at the parents of the expectant mum’s house and it’s just tiny, dry sandwiches and one bottle of prosecco to share between 22 of you.

Then the games begin, with no Cards Against Humanity or beer pong in sight. Instead, it’s things like “pin the vomit on the baby” or “guess the poo”, where different types of chocolate bars have been melted into nappies and you have to literally chow them down. Maybe this is your idea of an absolute hoot and that’s cool! But also, a tough ask if your guests have had a big Saturday night and they’re feeling delicate.

Then it’s time for presents. You don’t have to bring a present, but lots of people do and if you don’t, you will probably feel like Scrooge. Because of course, we would all love to gift our pregnant friend the entire Jamie Kay catalogue, but there’s a cost-of-living crisis and some people are barely making rent. And in my case, I got pregnant four days after I got home from my wedding, where my friends had just forked out to celebrate my husband and me on Waiheke for an entire weekend, and now they’re expected to buy me $60 lambskin booties from Nature Baby out of their “emergency account”? Hideous. Not fair.

So long story short – baby showers are not a good time. Except, I want one.

Because I’ve been basically housebound with hyperemesis for more than seven months. I’ve vomited up nearly every meal and can count the times I’ve seen my friends on one hand. I’m bored, exhausted and lonely and I know that in just a couple of months, my daughter will arrive and that it will all get so much worse before it gets better.

So, I’ve spent months having an internal battle about whether to have a baby shower or not. Because I know I’m not the only one who thinks they’re kind of a bit s*** – everyone I’ve floated the idea with has looked blatantly pained at the prospect and not even tried to hide it. My favorite ones are the ones who say they’re sorry they can’t make it, without even bothering to give a reason. And fair enough.

But maybe I’m a bit selfish because I still want one. I want to get my hair blow-dried and have everyone say I’m beautiful and glowing. I want to wear a nice, tight dress and enjoy the only party of my life where I can eat and not suck my stomach in and not wear Spanx. I want to have fun with my friends for the last time until God knows when I emerge from newborn hell, and I want to revel in an afternoon being all about me, before I’m a little girl’s mum first and Sinead second.

So, I’m having a baby shower, except I’m doing it in (hopefully) the least painful way possible.

No gross games, obviously, and no eating anything out of nappies – that’s simply unforgivable. I’ve made a gift registry but I’m only giving it to people who say, “No, I insist” and that it’s helpful. And much to my husband’s horror, men are invited to the party too so it’s not a circle of women, with a The Handmaid’s Tale-esque vibe. Plus, we’re having it at a bar so everyone can pretend it’s just a fun, normal afternoon out and they can get boozed. Except me obviously, but I’ll be content swishing my blow-dried hair and cradling my bump a la Meghan Markle. I promise I won’t do this for my next baby, okay?