Jane Eyre Baby Shower Invitations
A Literary Princess Celebration for Your Little One
You know how sometimes the universe just... sends you a person? Someone who walks in, not so much on glass slippers—my girl would laugh her ass off at the idea of fragile footwear—but with this wild, heart-full-of-cotton-candy energy that changes up your whole dang week? That’s her.
Let me just come out and say it: this post exists because of her. And also because, apparently, I am now the Official Royal Scribe/Doodler/Hot Glue Gun Wielder for what is, allegedly, the baby shower of the actual century. Not to set the bar too high for myself but—Holy. Sht.
We’re talking about a princess-themed baby shower, people. Did your brain just conjure up that image? Go with it. Think pink tulle that would make even Rapunzel’s pet lizard weep, glitter for days, and tiaras on… literally everything except the dog (jury’s still out on the cat). If fairy tales and Pinterest boards had a fever dream, THIS would be it.
But here’s the thing: I have a love-hate (but mostly love) relationship with princess-themed invitations. Like, on one hand—YES, I will stamp, sticker, ribbon, and wax-seal until my fingerprints are just stray pieces of washi tape. On the other, my handwriting looks like a toddler’s attempt at calligraphy, after too much juice. So I’m sweating all over my art supplies, but that’s fine, because she’s worth it, and tbh the little blobs I draw for baby carriages are starting to look like actual strollers instead of nervous potatoes. Progress.
Anyway. The pressure is real. Because this princess, my friend, she’s… how do I describe her? She’s the kind of person who can freestyle baby talk and still sound sophisticated, who once wore a kitchen curtain as a cape and somehow made it FASHION. If the world handed out invisible tiaras for heart and humor, she would’ve been born with fricken six of them.
She makes me laugh so hard I snort. She’s cried with me in parking lots, on floors, over melted ice cream, and once, in a Taco Bell. (Bless the staff there.) You want to make the perfect invitation for a soul like THAT? It feels like holding a hummingbird—happy, nervous, desperate not to mess it up.
So, I start. Picturing little hand-cut crowns, sparkly pink envelopes, and those cute, fancy fonts that make you want to bite your own fist because, hello, what if we just… made them scratch and sniff? (Don’t do this. Last time I tried, it was a “roses” sticker and my cat would not stop.)
I keep thinking about how this baby girl—a real-life little princess soon to be—will someday get to see these. Maybe she’ll just chew on them, because that is, let’s face it, what babies do with paper. But you know what? She’ll also see that someone (me, hi) was so fricken excited for her arrival, she nearly glue-gunned her own fingers together. All for her and her not-yet-here mom, who I love to the point of embarrassing myself in public with stories about her winning “Fancy Dress Day” with a bath towel and a cardboard wand. Who gets called princess, but never asks for a crown, and who—UGH—I just hope these baby shower invitations make her feel like the center of her own castle.
I mean, half the invitation wording is me trying not to cry. Because sometimes friendship is so dang magical, you have to put it in gold foil just so the world gets a hint.
So. Invitations. Princess ones. They are fricken cute and slightly sparkly and probably a little bit lopsided. And they are 100% all about love, right down to the accidental confetti explosion in my kitchen (don’t ask).
We do this. For our girls, and their girls, and the tiny babies coming who have no idea just how much joy, love, and “oops” hot glue we’ve been saving up for them.
That’s what makes any invitation magical—princess or otherwise. The heart you put in. And, you know, the willingness to embrace glitter in ALL the places that glitter really, really shouldn’t go.
Invite sent. Kingdom awaits. Long may she reign.