His name showed up on my caller ID and instantly I knew why he was calling.   I didn’t even greet him.  “Is the baby here?” I asked.  “Is everyone okay?”

He laughed at my presumption then assured me that everyone was fine.  I jotted down the child’s vital statistics while listening to the tale of the birth.

Possibly everyone has the friend who shows every sign of staying single forever.  I had V. until seven months ago, when with no notice he announced that he and his girlfriend had gotten themselves pregnant and were planning an immediate wedding.  “You don’t have to get married, you know,” I told him awkwardly.  My ex echoed the advice.  In fact V. reported that after congratulations, “you don’t have to get married you know” was the most common response to his announcement.

Nevertheless, they got married and in due time the baby arrived.  After V. gave me all the details, I encouraged him to call me anytime things got frustrating and he wanted an ear.  “I’ve been through it more than once,” I reminded him.  “I vividly remember how awful those first couple months can be.”

Things will be fine, V. assured me.  His baby wasn’t a crier at all!  “Honey, it’s early,” I said gently.  “Babies don’t cry when they’re twelve hours old.  They cry when they’re twelve days old.  And twelve weeks old.  Call me then.”

He brushed off the offer.  “How bad could it be?” he wondered.

Bad, I told him.  Bad enough that you’ll consider buying earplugs.  Bad enough that you’ll seriously think over setting your child on the back porch while you lie down for a nap with three pillows over your head.  Bad enough that during hour two of slammed doors and wailing from two toddlers too tired to go to sleep — like tonight, I thought but didn’t say — you’ll wonder why in the world you ever wanted to become a parent.  Bad enough that on a few extra dark days you’ll wish to send them back from whence they came.

“But you love your kids,” he said.  “Surely you never felt like that.”

Yes I did, I assured him.  Yes I most certainly did.

V. was unconvinced.  He theorized that parenthood wouldn’t be so bad for him because he could always rest while his bride was nursing; also he could retreat to the basement if things got too ugly.  I rolled my eyes and left him to go back to wife and child, ignorant and happy.

Ignorant and happy, the only way to become a first-time parent.  Or perhaps I’m the only one who has upon occasion questioned her decision to raise children?