Emily Giffin - Baby proof

It has always amused Ben how much I chat with cab drivers. He says it is a very touristy thing to do, and that it is unlike me to be so candid with strangers. He's right on both counts, but for some reason, I can't help myself in a taxi.

My driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. I can only see his eyes, which is unfortunate, because I have always thought a person's mouth reveals more of what he's thinking. The driver either doesn't have a firm grasp of English or he is colossally deficient in the empathy department, because he says nothing except, "Where on Fifth?"

"Twelfth. East side," I say, as my eyes drift down to read his name on the seatback. It is Mohammed Muhammed. I have to fight back tears as I think of how Ben once told me, on about our fourth date, that getting a cabbie named Mohammed or Muhammed, whether as a first or last name, is akin to a coin toss, a fifty-fifty proposition. Obviously it was a gross exaggeration, but ever since that night, we always check the medallion, and smile when we get a hit. It seems to happen at least once a week, but this is my first-ever double. I suddenly have the strongest urge to turn around and go home. Touch Ben's face, kiss his cheekbones and eyelids, and tell him that surely this man's medallion is a sign that we must fix things, somehow move forward together.

Instead, I rifle through my purse for my phone so that I can let Jess know that I'm on my way over. I remember that I left it in its charger in the kitchen. I whisper shit , realizing that she might not hear her doorman buzzing her. This could be a problem because Jess is a very sound sleeper. I fleetingly consider heading straight for a midtown hotel, but I'm afraid I'll completely fall apart if I'm alone. So I stay on course.

Fortunately, Jess hears her buzzer, and within minutes of being dropped off, I am curled up on her couch, rehashing my fight with Ben while she makes us cinnamon toast and a big pot of coffee-the extent of her expertise (and mine) in the kitchen. She brings us each a cup, mine black, hers loaded with sugar, and says that it is time for a serious talk.

Then she hesitates before adding, "And the topic of this conversation is 'Why Claudia doesn't want kids'?" She shoots me a sheepish look.

"Aw, c'mon. Not you, too ," I say.

She nods like a stern schoolteacher and says, "I just want to review your reasons."

"You already know my reasons."

"Well, I want to hear them again. Pretend I'm your therapist." She sits up straight, crosses her legs, and holds her mug with pinky and thumb out, Kelly Ripa-style. "And this is our first session."

"So now I need to see a therapist just because I don't want kids?" I feel myself slipping into my defensive mode, an all too familiar emotion lately.

Jess shakes her head. "No. Not because you don't want kids. But because your marriage is in trouble. Now. Let's go. Your reasons, ma'am?"

"Why do I need to have reasons' ? When someone decides to have a baby, people don't go around asking what her reasons are."

"True," Jess says. "But that is a whole nother topic about women's role in society."

In my mind, I hear Ben ranting about people saying a whole nother instead of another whole. "C'mon, people ! Nother is not a word) . "And just like I did when I saw Mohammed Muhammed's name in the cab, I feel myself tearing up, thinking how much I am going to miss him and his quirky observations.

"Don't cry, hon," Jess says, patting my leg.

I blink back my tears, take a deep breath, and then say, "I'm just so sick of everyone assuming that you have to have kids to be happy. I thought Ben was different, but he's just like everyone else. He totally bait and switched me."

"It must feel like that."

I notice that Jess is not exactly agreeing with me, so I say, "You're on his side, aren't you? You think I should just suck it up and have a baby."

"I'm not… judging your feelings about not wanting kids. I'm the last one who should be judging anyone's life choices, right?"

I shrug and she continues, "I think your decision on this is a perfectly legitimate choice. It's the right choice for a lot of women… I think, in many ways, it's a very brave choice… But I do think we should talk it over. I don't want you to have any regrets."

"About not having kids or about losing Ben?"

"Both," she says. "Because right now they seem to be one and the same."

I blow my nose and nod. "Okay."

Jess leans back in the couch and says, "So go ahead there. Leave no stone unturned."

I sip my coffee, think for a second, and instead of rehashing my usual reasons, I say, "Did I ever tell you about the study of mice missing the Mest gene?"

She shakes her head. "Nah. Doesn't ring a bell."

"Well, there was this study where scientists determined that mice missing this one particular gene-the Mest gene-have an abnormal response to their newborns. Basically, without this gene, they have no mothering instinct, and so they didn't feed or care for their young the way the other mice did."

"So? Are you saying that you're missing the Mest gene?"

"I'm just saying that some women probably don't have that… mothering instinct… I don't think I have it."

"Not at all ! Not even a trace of it?" she asks. "Because I've heard a lot of women say that they thought they didn't have it until they had a baby of their own. And then, voila! Nurture city."

"Is that a safe gamble?" I ask. "What if it doesn't kick in?"

"Well. I think there are a lot of effective mothering styles. You don't have to be Betty Crocker or June Cleaver to be a good mother."

"Okay. But what if I'm sorry I had a baby at all? What then?"

Jess frowns, looking deep in thought. "You're really good with kids," she says. "You seem to really like them."

"I do like kids," I say, thinking of my sister's kids and Raymond Jr. How good it felt to tuck his warm little body against mine and inhale his sweet baby smell. "But I have absolutely no desire to have one of my own on a full-time basis. And I firmly believe that if I had one, I'd wind up resenting Ben. Even worse, I think I'd resent our child. It's not fair to anyone."

Jess nods again, adopting that earnest "keep going, we're really making progress" shrink expression.

"I like my life the way it is. I like our lifestyle. Our freedom. I can't imagine the constant state of worry that parents have… From worrying about SIDS, to falling down stairs, to drunk driving accidents… that worry doesn't go away for eighteen years. In some ways, it never goes away. You worry about your children forever . Everyone says it."

Jess nods.

"And, truthfully, Jess, how many married people with kids seem genuinely happy to you?" I ask, thinking of my sister Maura and how her marriage started to become strained right after her firstborn, Zoe, arrived. And their relationship got progressively worse with her two sons that followed. I am not my sister, and Ben is not Scott. But it does not seem at all unusual for a relationship to change once children arrive on the scene. They are a drain on your time, your money, your energy, your patience. You can't put your relationship first anymore. So for better or worse, the dynamic of two people shifts and takes a new form. A form that sometimes seems to have more to do with surviving than truly enjoying life.

"I know what you mean." Jess looks sheepish and then says, "Trey often refers to his family as the 'noose around his neck.' "

"Charming," I say. "My point exactly."

"I don't think he means his son," Jess says defensively. "Just her ."

Jess goes out of her way not to say Trey's wife's name, Brenda. I think it makes her feel less guilty. She continues, "But I don't think he'd feel that way if he were married to the right person… And I don't think you and Ben would end up feeling like that. I think kids bring problems to the surface. Y'all don't have real problems. You would maintain a good marriage with kids."