My darling fabulous daughter,
I
had a delightful visit a few weeks ago with a dear friend, her daughter - now a
new mother, and her two-week-old angel-faced grandbaby. As new mommy was
patting the baby’s back I noticed she wore a ring with an unusually large central
gemstone that was surrounded by glittering diamonds. I commented on the rather
spectacular ring and was told it was a “push present”.
Push
present? I’d never heard the term before, but was soon enlightened: it’s a gift
a new mother receives from the baby’s father for “pushing out a baby”. Oh how
indelicate is modern phraseology! During the tender years of my youth a baby
was ‘brought by the stork’ or ‘found in the garden under a cabbage leaf’ - far
less visceral evocations than “pushing out a baby”. But, I digress…
After
my initial wonder of what kind of money-grubbing concept the jewelry industry
would next concoct in efforts to divert savings away from education funds and
into its greedy coffers, I conducted a little research on-line. I soon discovered
that while push presents are a relatively new phenomenon in North America,
there’s a long-standing tradition of giving jewelry to new mothers in other
countries.
Soon
the gears in my wee brain began churning in a new direction: being Canadian, and Canada being part
of the British Commonwealth, and there being a long-standing tradition in
England of jewelry-giving to new mothers, and it being more than a few years
since I've received an extravagant gift of jewelry from my husband, the father of
my babies … you can see where my thoughts were leading me.
And
so it came to be that while working in the yard a few days later, I shared my
newfound knowledge of push presents with your father. I described the sound reasoning
behind such gifts, occasionally tapping my dilapidated trowel in the air to punctuate
salient points, such as the 9 month-long-and-beyond ruination of a once lithe
body, the rigors and agonies of protracted labour, etc. Finally, to illustrate
my glowing description of the maharani-worthy ring worn by my friend’s lovely
daughter, I drew a circle (the gold band) in the air with my wobbly-handled
trowel and made a few emphatic stabs where the large gemstone and diamonds were
located. Then, with what I supposed to be a winning smile, I suggested that
although a few decades had passed since the blessed events, I, myself, would
not be adverse to receiving a push present or two.
All
too predictably, your father snorted in disgust and said he’d never heard
anything so ridiculous in his entire life; that our two gorgeous daughters were
presents enough. With a frightful scowl marring his handsome face, he then
started his oversized (and overloud) lawn mower and roared around the yard like
a demon on a mission until he’d covered the near quarter acre lawn - twice!
Imagine
my surprise, then, when the dear man came home the following afternoon and
announced he’d bought me a push present. He stood before me like a schoolboy
with his hand behind his back, and the expression on his face told me he was
exceedingly pleased with himself. With a flourish, he handed me a brand new trowel
manufactured from one piece of tough plastic incapable of degenerating to the
point of wobbling. “If you don’t like it,” he cheerfully proclaimed, “you can shovel
it!”
