It’s not the baby gifts, it’s what comes later

Virgil and Tamatha sit side-by-side in the backyard and open gifts, one at a time, the way people do at baby showers, punctuated by a chorus of “awww.” Everything is just so cute.

Family and friends mooned over Tamatha’s belly. “We can’t wait to meet him,” she said.

They ask how she feels, how she is sleeping. They tell her she looks beautiful. My cousin Virgil looks beautiful, too, to be honest. Happy. He’s excited about being a dad.

Baby Lucas is due in about a month or so.

Tamatha reads the cards out loud, and Virgil holds up the blankets, hooded towels and a stuffed giraffe.

“Oh, man, I love that giraffe,” said Nick, one of Virgil’s buddies from the Marine Corps. “We had one of those.” His daughter loved it, and so did the dog.

There is a huge box of wipes, 648 of them. A “Baby’s First Christmas” bib from aunt Marilyn. A Green Lantern teddy bear from Elliot.

A bottle sanitizer. Dinosaur pajamas. A swing.

“Kari,” Virgil said to me, “I’m surprised you didn’t get us a book.”

I pointed at the box wrapped in blue paper with white polka dots. Maurice Sendak’s “Where the Wild Things Are” was in there.

Virgil opened a Nintendo Switch from his friend Eric, who has two daughters. His wife hadn’t thought a video gaming console was an appropriate baby gift. Eric disagreed.

Tamatha thanked everyone, Virgil chiming in, for coming, playing those ridiculous games and for the gifts, of course.

Because they know the giraffe, “Where the Wild Things Are” and the rest are more than things. They are promises.

These are the people who will be there. To babysit, turn up at birthday parties and T-ball games, and listen.

“I am lucky to have these people in my life,” Virgil said. And, soon, in baby Lucas’ life. This will be his village.