It is the middle of the night. Newborn Sylvie has been fussing and mewling for a couple of hours. Stephany is changing her diaper for the seventh time. David is staggering around the room, scooping up burp cloths and knocking over the furniture. Sylvie's umbilical stub falls off.
Steph [picking it up, examining it]: Now what am I supposed to do with this?
David [staggering in aimless circles around the room]: Um. You're supposed to dry it? And save it for her wedding day?
Steph stares at him, then vaguely recalls endless conversation with overly talkative discharge nurse two days ago while still in hospital, who had advised us at great length to dry the roses we'd be sent, and save them for Sylvie's wedding day.
David: Yeah, it could be a neat part of the ceremony. You know, we'd present the groom with her umbilical stub, perhaps on a white velvet pillow, as a symbol that we were passing on our attachment to her... to...uh... him. Or something.
Steph: Honey, I think you should go lie down now.
Silly man. A white velvet pillow indeed. I'm thinking we could get a designer to incorporate it in a nice piece of jewelry, maybe. Or something.
What kind of setting do you use for an umbilical stump? I want to say platinum, but that might be wrong.
Posted by: Lisa | June 21, 2009 at 09:31 PM
I'm pretty sure that Patrick saved the ones that fell off my children. I didn't want to have anything to do with them.
Posted by: Perfectly Disgraceful | June 21, 2009 at 10:44 PM
Instant shudder - so glad these traditions were not around when I was a babe (decades ago).
Posted by: gigi | June 22, 2009 at 05:22 PM