POSTED AT 05:49 PM ON Jul. 26, 2009 | PRINT | Email | SHARE | COMMENTS (0)

Maybe in 10 years I’ll be ready for a kid. But not now. I still want to travel at will, wake up at night and sleep through the day, feel free to skip breakfast, lunch and/or dinner, and spend the majority of my money on DVDs and concert tickets.

Babies tend to end all that.

Not that I don’t enjoy other people’s children. I like to look at them, smile big, think how weird it was that we all started off that little – and then promptly say goodbye. Promptly, because newborns are just plain scary.

I guess I should be relieved that I’ll never have to fully experience childbirth. Don’t get me wrong; when it ultimately happens, I plan to be present, helpful, supportive and filming (if she’s OK with that). But the task of nurturing a child within will never be mine.

While this saves me from breastfeeding, having to watch my diet for nine months and potentially facing postpartum depression, it doesn’t help me escape that long period of anxiety and uncertainty that strikes men shortly after they learn they’ve got one on the way.

We call it “fatherhood.”

There’s just so much that can go wrong. You have to feed them the right way, buy them the right clothes, teach them the right things, and put them to bed on their backs. You need to set boundaries and enforce rules while trying to create a happy, nurturing and loving environment. Too much of this or too little of that could mess the whole thing up.

And if anything would go wrong, you’d feel at fault.

Last week, I learned my kid-to-be wouldn’t even have to be out of the womb to be scarred for life. The name I choose can ruin everything. In a study published in Social Science Quarterly, Shippensburg University professor David Kalist asserted the more uncommon or unusual a baby boy’s name, the greater the likelihood that he will wind up behind bars.  

I guess this means there never will be a Bartelby Palumbo Chernesky. I just can’t be responsible for that kind of threat to society.  

With so much at stake, it’s hard to see how anyone could ever be ready. I can see how many could be naive to all that awaits, how many could find parts of parenthood attractive, and why it might seem like a good idea when they don’t really think about it.
It makes you wonder why a reasonable person would ever want a child. Parenting is selfless, and that kind of work is never really attractive. It’s a lot of work and there’s no guarantee of success or thanks.

But maybe that’s why it’s so nice when you see it done right. Because the love of a parent is irrationally beautiful. Maybe that’s what people mean when they talk about the miracle of life.

Who knows, despite all better judgment, maybe one day I’ll nurture and raise a needy, crying baby. Just give me 10 years.