Liquor Makes an Excellent Baby Shower Gift

Last night, while sipping my limeade-arita, Tate and I started talking about the upcoming birth of our daughter, Petunia. The conversation was filled with all sorts of mushy mumbo jumbo about how excited we are to meet her, see her, and smell her newborn smell. I gushed about dressing her in cute wittle dwesses and Tate wondered if she'd be a Daddy's girl.

During our conversation we kept hearing a chirping like sounds coming from our neighbor's house. Being the nosy neighbors that we are (this is a post for later), we went around the side of the house to see a gaggle of middle school age girls practicing cheerleading. Apparently try-outs are soon and they were all practicing the routine.

It's been 20 years since I tried out for cheerleading. It's taken 20 years to get over the horror of not even making first cuts. I DIDN'T EVEN MAKE FIRST CUTS. Only the losers didn't make first cuts.

I remember almost every detail of the tryouts. The night before the big day, I heard that it was important to wear the school colors which were black and red. Nothing in my closet was suitable, all I had was an ugly, baggy red sweater and ratty black shorts. I begged and pleaded with my Mom to go out and get me something proper to wear.

I wore the red sweater and black shorts. (I don't think I've ever fully forgiven my Mom for this...but, this is another post for later.)

My permed, frizzy, horrendous hair was carefully tamed into a clip. I was sadly dressed in my school spirit colors (Go Generals!). We were paired up to go out and do the routine in front of the judges. I was paired with my best friend. We were given a few minutes to practice.

I had completely forgotten the routine. My best friend tried to quickly reteach it to me. There was no time. They called our names. We ran onto the floor, hooting and hollering, cart-wheeling and grinning so big you'd have thought we had Vaseline on our teeth (we did).

My hair clip fell out during the first part of the routine. Instead of ignoring it, I ran to grab the clip and try to put it back in my hair while still doing what I remembered of the routine. My sweater made me sweat. I suddenly couldn't kick my leg in the air like a cheerleader and instead looked like I was karate kicking.

The tryout did not go well (obviously). In fact, I never tried out for anything ever again. EVER.

I'm going to have to go through all of this again...with Petunia. My heart will break for her to see her disappointment if she doesn't make "it". Whatever "it" she chooses. I pray she has better coordination than her Mom. And better hair. I'll see to it that she has better clothes.

I suddenly wasn't enjoying my limeade-arita. It would've tasted (and felt) much better with a touch of tequila. It sure is fun and heartwarming to think about the ooey gooey goodness of new babies. Thinking about adolescence requires liquor.