thrown

"So, when are we going to have a baby?"

Few questions can make one lose her balance even while lying in bed about to drift off into some much needed post-holiday sleep. This is one of them.

The question might not have been so shocking had it not come from the lips of my husband, also lying next to me in bed about to drift off. My entire body went tense. I could actually feel each muscle in my body freeze and hold their breath while my brain quickly assessed the situation.

Is he serious? Is he joking? Is he dreaming? Am I dreaming? IS HE SERIOUS?

I don't know why, but I've rarely, if ever, allowed myself to think of actually having babies, kids, a family. Maybe all those years trying NOT to get pregnant -- condoms, pulling out, the Pill -- and those two scary I-Think-I-Might-Be-Pregnant-Holy-Crap-What-Am-I-Gonna-Do? moments scarred me for life, but I've always been weary about family fantasizing (although I do admit to an occasional baby name picking game here and then). I can hardly remember ever wanting kids as a little kid. I didn't want the cuddly baby in the crib. I wanted the fancy Barbie in the hot pink Corvette.

Anyway, there it was. One of those questions that just hangs in the air -- words strung together like paper lanterns to be lit or taken down.


"Um, what?" was the best I could do. I tried to sound all cute and suggestive so if he was kidding then I was kidding too, but if he wasn't then I didn't look like the cold hard bitch terrified of motherhood.

His silence wore a sly smile. Oh God. He's serious.

I had gotten the When Are You Gonna Have a Baby question plenty of times before, namely from my mother (43 times), my aunt (eight times), my sister-in-law (six times), my nosy manicurist (four times) and my dad (twice). But for the first time ever it was coming from the only other person on this earth who actually had a say in it.

Kinda freaky.

Luckily, we were both too tired to discuss further, which is weird because I was wide awake for the rest of the night long after he had fallen asleep.

I was thrown.

Neither of us mentioned it again all week and I did my best to swat it away whenever flutters of anxiety began to rise.

Fast forward to last Saturday night when we were both very awake and very drunk. After dinner and copious amounts of red wine at Le Bouchon, we continued with even stronger wine at Baracuda (yes, Baracuda) where its effect finally took hold of me in a way nothing else can and, for the first time, I let myself picture her. Or him. As it turns out, it's not so hard when you're looking into your future.