In the middle of the table was a Martha Stewart–style wedding cake fashioned out of diapers, ribbon, receiving blankets, and tightly rolled-up onesies—all hip and cheerful fabrics, alternating stripes and polka dots of dark brown, baby blue, and white. A stuffed monkey emerged from the top, one fist raised. A revolutionary monkey. “Isn’t it gorgeous?” my mother said. “Abby made it. Abby has been amazing with all of the preparation. Wait till you see the favors she’s giving out at the end.” Abby—my closest high school friend. We hadn’t talked as much as we used to since she’d had twins four years earlier. You’d think my pregnancy would have made us feel more connected, but it really hadn’t. We’d only talked twice since I’d announced it, and she was as busy as ever with her children and her full-time marketing job. Still, she’d insisted on arranging my shower. My mother led me to her. We hugged while my mother continued to rave about the diaper cake. “I know it’s not really your thing,”
