thoughtless

Having a baby makes me realize how utterly thoughtless I’ve been. Everyone gets you a gift. And I mean everyone. A woman I have not seen since high school just sent me two Amazon boxes filled with books. I haven’t a clue how many kids she has.

Before I had G, I thought of myself as a careful gift giver. I enjoyed plotting out special occasion presents for my inner circle–my good friends and my family.

It never occurred to me that I’d been tunnel visioned. That I’d been missing my mechanic’s grandkid’s birthday every single year. Is it possible to back gift?

I need answers to questions that just last year I didn’t realize existed: What is the appropriate present for my Supercuts hairstylist’s 10-year anniversary? If I send birthday gifts to that high school friend’s kids, what about her husband? How far outside my inner circle am I supposed to go?

And once I determine that range, how many hours am I to spend on Facebook figuring out kids’ names and when they were born? Here I’d been feeling good about staying on top of birthdays and weddings, christenings, bar mitzvahs, and quinceañeras (not to mention water filters and heartworm pills). I just had no idea how many people and occasions I was missing.

I know the intention is to make me feel good, but every gift I receive from someone whose name I’m not sure how to pronounce makes me feel worse about myself. My mother’s second cousin’s grandson’s wife knitted a blanket. Got that? My great-granduncle’s great-great-granddaughter-in-law, who lives in another city–I’m not even sure where, who I have seen maybe twice–spent 20 hours knitting the softest, most amazing blanket for this baby. I live in a world where that’s going on.