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April 11, 2005

Marital Slackers

From Beth, April's Guest Literary Chick!

So my second wedding anniversary is coming up this week and you know what that means:

Time to have a baby.

At least, this is what we keep hearing. From everybody. Friends, family, my husband’s co-workers…they all demand to see our progeny, the sooner, the better. We keep trying to stave them off by saying, "Oh, we’re waiting to see how the dogs turn out first and so far it doesn’t look promising, ha ha." But they are not amused.

It’s not that I don’t want to have children; I do. Well, theoretically, I do. But it is my understanding that babies require a lot of care, attention, and anguished trips to the E.R. at three a.m. Whereas being a writer requires uninterrupted REM sleep cycles and large chunks of quiet time. I just don’t see how these two sets of demands can be reconciled without the intervention of a firm but jovial British nanny, which are in shockingly short supply out here in Arizona.

My friend Shannon assures me that the whole infant-rearing thing is not as challenging as one might believe. She can say this because her daughter Addie is what I like to call a bait baby—a mellow, cheerful, one-in-a-billion cherub of a baby who lures you into believing that you, too, can pop out a child who will be sleeping through the night at 10 weeks. How easy! How delightful! But I am not fooled. I already know that my child would be nothing at all like Addie because, whereas Addie got to spend 9 months basking in the soothing, spa-like environment of Shannon’s womb, MY child would have to endure MY womb, which I imagine is similar to a special ops military bunker in terms of stress level, paranoia, and utter lack of fun. I’m going to be the pregnant woman obsessing about folic acid dosage and second hand smoke and whether my Type-A obsessing is going to create a Type-A, obsessive baby who will not be able to sleep through the night until middle school. I already feel sorry for the poor, nonexistent kid.

Update: last night I went to a wine bar with my husband and, being tired and strung out on allergy meds, decided to stick with water. Our friends immediately started elbowing each other and casually mentioning that should we ever need a car seat properly installed, the fire station was right down the street. Sigh. I’m officially boring and suburban now: if I refuse a drink, people assume it’s because I’m in the family way instead of still hungover from the night before. What’s next? Shopping for a station wagon? (Ooh, maybe it’ll have a CD player!)

Totally irrelevant side note: I’m doing some book signings in the Minneapolis and Los Angeles areas this month. For details, visit the "appearances" section of my website: http://www.bethkendrick.com/news.htm) Please drop by if you can, if only to give me the name of your nanny. Who knows? I may need it someday…but don’t tell our friends, family, or co-workers I said that!

Posted by at 2:57 AM