The Scene
WILL I EVER BE
READY FOR
I
From "Jake: A Man's Opinion," cour-
tesy of Glamour, Copyright (c) 1997 by
the Conde Nast Publications Inc.
F9
Illustration b
am surrounded on all sides by
plush pajamas with feet,
-
organically grown cotton
booties and strap-on Snuglis.
Beneficent cows and cuddly bunnies
stare me down from the pages of
pop-up books. There is no escape.
I'm back at the baby boutique for
the third time in as many months
because people I know — people my
age — have started to procreate. First
it was Andy with new son Max; next
Patty, a friend from work, had a little
girl; then Camille, a longtime mem-
ber of my opposite-sex advisory
panel, spawned a son.
Each arrival has sent me in search
of an appropriate baby gift and the
answer to a question I. had hoped to
dodge for few more years: Will I ever
want to be a father?
"It's the greatest feeling in the
world," Andy said as he peeled a
gocey diaper from Max's bottom.
Doubts were normal, he insisted.
"You'll love it when it happens."
Really? I wondered. Forget the' mias-
ma of diaper change — how about
the way a baby becomes your con-
stant appendage, a black hole of
neediness, a tiny dictator with
absolute power over your financial
and professional goals?
"You're just scared," Andy chuck-
led. "You would make a great dad."
An assessment based on what? I
wondered. Given my current level of
maturity, I personally suspect that I
would be a lousy dad. For instance, I
can easily envision fighting with my
kid over which cartoons to watch on
Saturday mornings. Heaven help the
child who stands between me and
the X-Men.
Andy just laughed. "The moment
you hold your kid in your arms,
you'll understand." He meant to
reassure me, but do I really want to
be blessed with this mysterious
, "understanding"? Just look what it
has done to Andy.
"L.
r1
Now a blissed-out member of the
daddy cult, he finds deep satisfaction
in packing baby supplies efficiently .
for a plane trip. Sometimes, he'd
rather discuss "B.M.s" than politics.
Fatherhood has landed him on the
other side of a chasm wider than the
one separating the married guy from
the single guy. To me, Andy no
longer seems like a "guy" at all.
Which is why Colin, married but
childless, says he thinks that "having a
baby is a kind of death. To be a good
dad, you have to trade your life for a
baby's life. One day you are eating
cold spaghetti over the sink; the next
day you are telling your kid not to.
You must be responsible, set an exam-
ple. You can no longer afford the lux-
ury of experimenting with life."
This is. why babies are more terri-
fying than marriage and why some
men, equating marriage with chil-
dren, fear nuptials in the first place.
It is not so much being with one
woman the rest of their lives that
they fear, but being with a baby.
Of course, the love of a good woman
and the comfort of a good marriage
may make parenthood seem possible,
even desirable. But how can I bank
on that transformation when I'm
having trouble lining up a date
for the weekend, not to mention a
wife and mother for my future chil-
dren?
Not that the alternative to family
life looks so appealing.
"I sometimes wonder," my friend
John once told me, "if I don't have
kids, will I be one of those old guys
who sits in a lawn chair and waves at
passing cars?" Such images of child-
less isolation have scared me into
saying "someday" and "maybe"
instead of "never," when girlfriends
have asked me (hopefully) about my
feelings on fatherhood.
Married women, of course, choose
not to defer much to male baby anx-
iety; the mother-knows-best steam-
roller approach seems to be what
they prefer. "I flat out did not want a
child," says David, the father of a
toddler. "But my wife knew it was
time." Is the ticking of the biological
clock loud enough to drown out
male moans? "She worked on me for
over two years," David said. "Now
I'm glad we have Rosie."
David would never have allowed
his wife to cajole him into, say, buy-
ing a Yugo. But he says yes to a
baby? What if he hadn't experienced
a postpartum paternal surge? I listen
to the constant rumble of outrage at
men who snore at 3 a.m. feedings
and later on forget which grades
their kids are in. Some of them go
on to become deadbeat dads, and I
certainly don't want to join those
ranks. Perhaps my fears are a warn-
ing — one that girlfriends and dis-
missive pals like Andy should heed.
Then again, I have my meltdown
moments, like the time I stood spell-
bound, watching a friend's 2-year-old
son bonk his head on the refrigera-
tor, smile like a madman and happily
exclaim, "Uh-oh! before marching
off to a cabinet and bonk again.
"Uh-oh!"
I shake a silver rattle in my hand
and wonder if a son of mine might
actually share my love for the X-
Men, might even curl up against my
chest while we watch together on
Saturday mornings. But I would
probably have no time for cartoons
as a wage-slave drudge struggling to
save for college.
As it stands now, I can barely
afford the silver rattle. The sales-
woman bears down on me. "So," she
says, smiling, "have you made a deci-
sion?"
❑
.10/24
1997
89