The Pull of the Push Present

The words of the greatest television character of our generation, George Costanza, reverberated in my head when I first heard about this thing called a push present:

"It never ends, this present stuff! Engagement present! Then they get married, you're gonna have to get something for that. Then the baby, there's another present. Then the baby starts getting their presents. I don't even like the Drake."

(Seinfeld fans will remember that no one likes the Drake in the end, especially after charity got all the gifts. Those of you who aren't Seinfeld fans should think long and hard about why you don't like hilarious things.)

Pregnancy comes with lots of opinions. Name your child this. Don't drink that. Eat this. Don't lift that. It's the push present, though, that may be the most polarizing issue. For those of you who don't know, a push present is a gift to a mother that celebrates the birth of a child. Essentially, it's a way to say, "Hey, you just had a really tough 10 months and went through an enormous amount of pain, so here's this token of my love."

The whole push present deal really comes down to two questions:
1. Should I get one for her?
2. What should it be?

(Of course, No. 2 is moot if the answer to No. 1 is "no.")

Let's tackle No. 1 first. Should I get a push present for Bridget? I decided to do some quick research about the push present business and found that it really only started in 1992 -- at least that's the first time the phrase was published. (So much for a long, meaningful tradition.) A 2007 BabyCenter.com survey found that 38% of 30,000 women received a push present. Fifty-five percent wanted one. Forty percent said the baby was enough of a gift.

Hmmm. Good information, but it certainly didn't make the decision for me.

I asked a few people at work and got varied opinions. Some women skipped my first question and just asked what I was getting Bridget. One of my male friends, on the other hand, had a priceless reaction when I asked him if he planned to get a push present for his wife: "A what now? Are you serious? No, I don't think so. No." Other male friends have opted for diamonds. (Thanks, jerks. Isn't there a homemade breakfast-in-bed you should be preparing in your Italian villa?)

I still couldn't decide.

And again, I couldn't help but think of George's wise (and angry) words. He's right about presents, as he was about most things. We're trained to buy gifts for everything. And in my experience, the gesture seems to mean more than the gift nowadays because most people just buy themselves what they want. Sigh.

Still, I decided yes. A first baby is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and my darling Bridget had sacrificed a lot in 2013. I also decided that I'd wait to see her push before I chose a gift.

That brings us to question No. 2: What should I get? I had decided I would get either a massage gift certificate or this Patagonia winter coat. Then, after seeing my tough-as-nails wife endure a great deal of pain and witnessing the amazing moment, I, of course, got both gifts. (Plus, I got her some sour gummy worms because she really likes those.)

Is it the most romantic gift ever? No. But the massage will make Bridget feel wonderful for an hour and the coat will keep her warm when she takes Belle on long walks this fall and winter. Plus, the gift resulted in a lot of happy tears, which is always a good thing.

Of course, now I have to think of a Christmas gift. And that's only if we decide not to exchange gifts on Columbus Day this year ...

Eating Together -- At The Table?

Marriage instantly makes you a family. Granted, it's a small family, but it's still a family. You are now husband and wife. Breadwinner and bread eater. Emergency contact and, well, emergency contact.

Simply put, things change. And of all the places that change happens, none may be more significant than the dinner table. Or, as we used to call it, that white, flat thing in our dining room that holds the mail, Oscar's leash, and our latest dying plant.

But now, it is for chow. Because we don't want to turn into these folks:

Bridget and I do our best to eat together as much as possible. The summer makes that tough. She has a girls' night. I have basketball and kickball. Happy hours happen. But, during most work weeks, we eat in the same apartment at least a couple times. And at least one of those times, we've promised, it will be together at the dinner table. 

Older folks (read: older than 35) might read this and say, "Hey, you should always eat at the dinner table together! What's wrong with you? You damn kids and your MTV! Eat at the table!" Well, we don't. And in today's entertainment- and technology-filled world, I'd be willing to wager many couples and families don't.

There are TV shows to watch, iPads to play with, and Kindles to read. Frankly, it's much easier to turn on classic episodes of Seinfeld (like the Kenny Rodgers chicken one), exploits of Homer Simpson (like this one), and even the occasional Two and a Half Men (like this classic) when things really get stale. (Really, Mike? Two and a Half Men? I'm kidding, of course. That's the worse show ever. You should be ashamed of yourself if you watch it.)

But in all seriousness, we've turned off the TV, stored the iPad and the Kindle, and have started to just talk at the table. And you know? It's been great. We talk about work. We talk about when we want to have kids. We talk about food, vacations, and Syracuse basketball. (Well, not really, but I'd like to.)

Eating together at the table is quality time that we didn't have when our eyes were glazed over watching Jerry dump a girl for eating her peas one at a time. And, it creates a good habit for when we have more than just two (and a dog) in our family.

How often do you eat at the table with your significant other or family?