About Madison
Hey there girls.
Seriously, stop scrolling right now and listen up, because it’s princess-TIME and I—yes, me, Madison—am your magical guide to all things princess baby shower. Grab your tiaras, darlings. Pour a (non-alcoholic, unless you’re not the pregnant one) goblet of something pink and fizzy, because we are about to get sparkly, sentimental, and possibly a little bit ridiculous.
Okay, so let’s just address something right off the top: Why do people act like “princess” is only for three-year-olds and Disney movies? I call royal nonsense on that. Adults need tulle too sometimes. We birth the dang next generation! The very least the world can give us is a sequined sash and a cupcake topped with a marzipan crown while we gestate.
But back to business.
I am Madison.
I have planned seventeen princess baby showers at last count—seriously, I keep a spreadsheet, don't come for me—ranging from over-the-top castle cake fountains (yes, I said fountains) to the daintiest afternoon teas where even the napkins looked like they were blessed by the Fairy Godmother herself. I once watched a grown woman cry over a pink chocolate frog. No one recovers from that.
So why am I obsessed with princess showers? Oh sweet friend, where do I even BEGIN. Picture this: The expectant mama walks in, wide-eyed, her ankles doing that pregnancy thing, every inch of her radiating “I am both regal and exhausted.” And the room?
Oh the fricken room!
Balloon arches. Twinkly lights. Tables carpeting in more pastel than a bunny daydream. It’s only baby shower planning, but it definitely feels like stage-managing a parade and running a beauty pageant at the same time. The only crown you have to polish is the emotional kind. And let’s be real, every baby is a tiny monarch of chaos anyway, so it tracks.
Let’s talk invitations.
Listen. If you send me an Evite that looks like it belongs at a corporate Q3 networking session, I am not only judging you—I am clutching my imaginary pearls with both hands. You want an invitation that SINGS. I want illustrations that shimmer, fonts that twirl, and a touch of drama. Will twelve-year-old me forgive thirty-two-year-old me if I send something without a sprinkle of gold foil? I THINK NOT. I want the guest to open her mailbox and squeal, “Holy sht! Am I being summoned to Versailles or what?!”
(Tip: If the invite opens with “Her Royal Highness [Mama’s Name] requests your enchanted presence…” you are already halfway to The Land Of Babies Who Smell Like Heaven And Sleep Like Unicorns.)
But holy heck, it’s not just about glitter and diaper cakes—even though diaper cakes are a weirdly powerful art form that must never be underestimated. It’s also about making mom-to-be feel like the main character. Main Princess Energy. Not Disney-princess-locked-in-a-tower, but Disney-princess-who-finally-kicks-down-the-door-and-sings-over-her-kingdom. She’s done enough. She can sit back and eat finger sandwiches with her pinky out, thanks.
Pause for a sec—do you even KNOW the drama behind getting a baby shower guest list together? Absolutely royal-level politics. Cousin Jill and Aunt Carol are feuding (again). Someone refuses to sit near Megan because, “She said my baby was only CUTE, not GORGEOUS.” (Y’all. Babies are ALL gorgeous, even when covered in cheese puff dust and baby acne. Fight me.)
But somewhere in the chaos, every table becomes stuffed with laughter. People swap labor horror stories. Jelly beans get thrown at someone’s updo. You see genuine, teary-eyed “I’m so happy for you!” hugs, then someone spills punch and pretends it’s fairy dust. Pure magic.
Do I sound a little obsessed?
Good.
Because creating a princess baby shower is not just about peonies and organza, babes—it’s about giving one brilliant, bone-tired woman her cue to just BE. To let go. To laugh so hard she snorts lemonade. To sit on a balloon throne and feel, for one evening, gloriously impossible and 100% seen.
Okay.
My work here is done. For now.
Next week, I’ll tell you what happens when your tiara is too tight and your cupcakes are too dry (spoiler: you power through, with grace and a touch of icing in your eyebrow). For now, dust off those glass slippers. Queue up your favorite princess soundtrack.
And if you need me?
You know where to find me—lurking near the confetti cannons, spreadsheet in hand, ready to coronate the next baby shower queen.
Go forth, my friends.
Make it magical.
Send me pics.
Let’s make the world a little more royal, one tiny human at a time.