How We Got Here, Vol. 1

How We Got Here, Vol. 1

As I sit and stare, glassy-eyed, at a detailed listing for a pair of gently used baby sandals on the moms’ consignment group I’ve recently joined on Facebook, I wonder how I got to this place.

Three years ago or so, anyone who knew me would be able to tell you that I never wanted kids. I don’t particularly care for most children. They always seem to be very sticky and unpredictable, characteristics I prefer to experience in things like ice cream cones. In fact, when I started dating my husband Matt, I was pleased to set his mind at ease when I learned he did not want kids. “Oh, don’t you worry about me! I don’t want any either! Gross!” For years, I was annoyed when anyone who heard about my decision gave me a knowing look and cajoled me with, “Just wait. You’ll change your mind!” And lots of people did this. I’d show them! I’d have dogs, and cats, and I’d travel, and I’d enjoy date nights with Matt every night of the week, and I’d live happily ever after.

And I did! For a while.

Gross.
This child looks like it might try to touch me

One ordinary night, a couple of years ago, Matt took an Ambien and settled in for a peaceful eight hours of rest. Because that’s the typical result of his taking Ambien, maybe nine times out of ten. But occasionally, before he falls asleep, he gets… weird. The Ambien kicks in, and rather than drifting off to dream of guitars and Squidbillies, he wants to talk about weird things for several minutes before he passes out. He never remembers anything he’s said, the following day. (Side note: This is why I never have to worry about Matt having an affair. Or really being deceptive in any imaginable way. I have access to inexpensive and effective truth serum, around three times each month.) His transition from total lucidity to being completely out of his senses can be quite subtle. He will usually say something vaguely nonsensical, which tips me off. Examples of things he might say: 

1. “I need to search for flights to Japan.”

2. “Can you explain how electricity works, but better than the way I already know?

3. “I know you think my feet are weird but I’m just so used to them. So is my mom.”

On this particular night, Matt explained to me that he wanted us to have a baby as soon as possible. Then, he calmly informed me that he’d be happy to “go in and rip that IUD right out of there.” Then he fell asleep, practically mid-sentence. I sat there, mouth agape, my usual pre-bedtime game of Candy Crush instantly abandoned. Sure, I recognized the telltale signs of an Ambien kick, but I was still floored.

The next day at work, I felt a little out of sorts. I tried to remind myself that Matt had no idea what he was saying. I finally got so agitated that I called Matt and told him I was coming by his office at lunchtime to talk. When I arrived, I solemnly recounted everything that he’d said the night before. “Do you secretly want a baby and you’re not telling me?!” I demanded. Matt just laughed. “No! Listen! Everything is fine! It’s just baby fever!” Oh…. was that all this was? What a relief! That was a close one. I decided to immediately put it out of my mind.

Matt would occasionally contract what he called baby fever, a temporary malady causing him to wish he had a baby of his very own for a period of time ranging from one hour to several weeks in duration. The baby fever would eventually break, returning him to a comfortably anti-baby stance and leaving him with little memory of his baby-craving delirium. Luckily, I had always seemed to be immune to this virus, preferring to hold babies for no more than five minutes at a time (and that only happened when the mother of the creature looked at me expectantly, as though I’d obviously want to hold it, which I didn’t, but then of course I felt like I had to). 

Baby fever
Baby fever at its worst. This person is screaming violently into her hankie because she is so sad about wanting a baby

Inexplicably, once the Ambien incident happened, despite my intentions to ignore it all, I started to get baby fever too. All the classic symptoms. I started to think a little about what that Matt/Courtney person might be like. Some things would be almost a given… High forehead. Sensitive. Sarcastic. But would he be musical like Matt? Would she enjoy Buffy the Vampire Slayer like me? Would her feet be weird like Matt’s? Could I teach him to love all felines, big and small? And I began to wish I could get to know that little being. I realized that, for the first time, I had so much love for another person, Matt, that I was curious to experience the full depths of what our life together could become. Yes, I know it sounds very dramatic and vaguely churchy and makes you want to roll your eyes. But it’s what happened. Suddenly, I felt fine with the prospect of hanging out with this particular nonexistent child, even knowing he or she would definitely get sticky frequently. 

We eventually decided to go for it (more on that in Vol. 2). Over time, Matt and I talked about other reasons we might want a kid. Our families would be elated, we had good stable jobs, and so forth. But I’m proud to say that my future child was ultimately the product of her father’s drug-addled ramblings. We’re off to a great start. 😍

Being Shamelessly Judgmental of Parental Behavior, Vol. 2

Being Shamelessly Judgmental of Parental Behavior, Vol. 2

There are certain things you parents do that really make me tired, and as I mentioned before, I feel pretty comfortable judging parental behavior. To a point. I mean, I’m not the type to be like, “I feel that the Montessori style of learning may not fit well with Junior’s penchant for eating crayons.” I may (okay, will) think it, but I’d only ever say it behind your back. Anyway, I’d like to address social media mom behavior number two:

Posting milestones in which you project impossible emotions onto your baby. Your child is three months old. You celebrate the big day by posing said child with a large stuffed animal and a Pinteresty-looking sign that proudly announces, “I’m three months old!” You include with this photo a list of things you’ve decided your baby loves or hates, as though the baby has pulled you aside and made you aware of his preferences himself. Example: “I’m three months old! I love watching Bubble Guppies, sleeping, and keeping my Mommy on her toes!” 

First of all, that child did not make that sign. Who do you think you’re fooling? And second, we know the kid is completely non-verbal, Mom. He doesn’t care that he’s three months old, or have any concept of numbers. I bet even I could add and subtract better than him. Sure, he’s drawn to the bright shapes he sees on that TV you plopped his immobile body in front of, but you may as well put Scarface on for him. He might learn something about life on the mean streets of Miami. Tell him it’s baby powder. 

No, Ma! I wanted to watch Goodfellas!
No, Ma! I wanted to watch Goodfellas!

Important note, in conclusion: this shameless judgment of parental behavior doesn’t apply to any obviously exaggerated emotions you project publicly onto your child for my own amusement. In fact, do this more. Example: “I’m three months old! I prefer bourbon to scotch, and enjoy binge-watching The Wire with my wife Linda when I’m not crunching numbers! #accountantlife.” 
Hedgehog! Because you deserve more in the way of visual aids than one crying gangster baby
Hedgehog! Because you deserve more in the way of visual aids than one crying gangster baby