Our Crack Tongue & Groove
An invite to a baby sex party...?
First up: DO NOT Google “Baby Sex Party” or any combination of those words. It will give you the kind of internet browser history that anyone will find repellent, save Operation Yewtree police officers, who will no doubt be very anxious to make your acquaintance.
But I’m not quite sure what the official term is for those parties where everyone gathers at the behest of a soon-to-be-with-child couple, who are gleefully intent on revealing what sex their baby is in the most imaginative way they can think of.
I’ve heard about people having Harry Potter get-togethers (the pregnant mother-to-be lifting her Sorting Hat as the party reaches its thrilling climax to reveal either pink or blue booties); Piñata parties (smash the papier-mâché belly and get covered in pink or blue confetti); and party-popper extravaganzas (everyone fires their party popper at the same time and gets festooned in pink or blue streamers).
You may have noticed that the one constant in this farrago of forced jollity is the fact that boys are always assigned the colour blue, while girls are stuck with pink, thus reinforcing stereotypes before the little bundle of mucus has even clapped eyes on its first My Little Girly Unicorn toy (pull a string on its back and it froths: “Where’s a man when you need one?”).
The go-to standard for these parties however, remains the cake. Cut into it and you’ll be met with – yep! – either pink or blue goop. And just in case you think such colour-coding doesn’t pigeonhole the child quite enough, many of these cakes are decorated with messages such as: “Tractors or Tiaras”, “Guns or Glitter” and “Wheels or Heels” (how long before we get “Bro or Hoe”?).
In short, these parties are terrible – another American import, which always has people cooing after the big reveal: “A girl! Didn’t I tell you that it was going to be a girl!” as if they had just predicted the lottery results – and the obvious answer to the question: What to do when you’re invited to a baby sex party, is politely decline.
However, I’m still excited to learn what sex this baby is going to be, and am willing to go that extra yard in the name of tradition, so I’m turning up unannounced at the birth to watch it pop out for myself.