Emily Giffin - Baby proof

Annie says, not too much, he's a very easy baby.

Naturally.

"We're really lucky," Ray says. "In fact, we have to wake him up at night for his feedings."

"That's highly unusual," I say, glancing nervously at Ben.

Everyone ignores my comment as Ray whisks his son up, bundles him back into his car seat, and leads the charge down to the street where he flags a cab almost instantly. I am hoping that the baby counts as a fifth person-over the legal limit in a cab-but our driver doesn't protest.

The rest of the evening continues smoothly, with Raymond Jr. snoozing peacefully in the noisy restaurant. Our conversation is normal and fun, and I almost forget that there is an infant sleeping under the table. When all else fails, I find myself rooting for an unsavory boob out on the table, but Annie produces a discreet bottle of formula, explaining that she's decided breast-feeding isn't her thing.

So short of the word precious , I have nothing on Annie or Ray or the baby.

On our way home that night, Ben asks what I thought of Raymond Jr.

I say he is really cute, very sweet.

"But?" Ben says, because my tone suggests a but .

I start rambling about how rare it is for a baby to sleep so much. I remind Ben that my sister's kids all had colic, and that even short of colic, most babies fuss a lot more than Raymond Jr. My monologue is not exactly subtle, but neither is Ben's rebuttal: a sales pitch centered on lofty and impractical offers to take "full, nighttime responsibility" for our baby should we somehow produce the difficult kind. It is as if he believes that the only thing keeping me from having children is my desire for a full eight hours of slumber. He follows that up with a speech about his firm's liberal paternity-leave policies and the appeal of being a stay-at-home dad.

"A stay-at-home dad?" I say. "You love your career."

Ben shrugs. "I'd love our baby, too… The point is, you wouldn't have to change your schedule at all , Claudia," he says. Then he repeats the statement, with the same emphasis on you and all .

"I heard you the first time," I say.

That night, around three a.m., I find myself wide awake and worrying. I strongly consider shaking Ben and saying, "Your turn to get the baby, honey." After all, it's one thing to talk about getting up in the middle of the night. It's a very different thing to do it when all you really feel like doing is sleeping.

But I decide against this tactic. After all, the way things have been going for me lately, Ben would likely get up, whistling and brainstorming baby names.

Ben's baby comments verge on bribery and continue rapid-fire over the next few days. I tell myself to hang in there, don't blow up, ride it out. I tell myself that I should give him at least as long as his guitar-playing days lasted on the off chance that babies are just Ben's current fixation. Or maybe he's just a little restless or bored or looking for something to fill a void. This would fit with one of my theories of why some couples-even the ones so ill-suited to be parents-have children. The theory is that part of the baby allure might have to do with our society's focus on "firsts." With benchmarks and rites of passage. We have our first kiss, first relationship, high school graduation, college, college graduation, first job, wedding, first home. Having a child just seems to be the next thing remaining in the progression of life, the only momentous step left to take. Or maybe couples just want to vicariously experience all those great firsts again through their children. Relive the highs and erase their mistakes. I'm not saying all couples have a baby for these reasons-most truly want to be parents-but I think some do.

In case Ben falls into this category, I make a point to work a little less and see to it that our life together is as full and fun as possible. I see to it that we do all the things we have always done together, but with greater intensity and frequency. I make reservations at new restaurants and take us to hear great music and see fabulous art. I plan weekend getaways to the Berkshires and the Hamptons.

Most important, I follow Jess's advice and keep our sex life strong. Jess is a huge believer in sex as a panacea to any problem-which is why she is so convinced that Trey is going to leave his wife any day now (she claims to be that good).

One night in particular, I wear my best lingerie and initiate the sort of lovemaking that is worthy of a lifetime highlight reel. All the while, I am feeling our crazy chemical connection, the part of our relationship that has felt lacking since our trip to St. John. I am sure that this effort will turn the tide back in my favor.

Afterward, my mind is blissfully blank. Then it drifts back to babies. I resist the urge to point out the obvious-that a child might jeopardize our love life. That we'd have little time or energy for sex. That we wouldn't be able to put each other first anymore. Surely Ben must be thinking the same thing when he kisses the top of my head and mumbles, "I love you, Claudia… Sweet dreams."

"You, too," I say, feeling myself drift off.

That's when Ben rolls toward me and says, "Claudia, if we have this baby, I promise you will be the first woman in the history of the world not to lose a wink of sleep."

It is very unlike Ben to talk at all after we make love, so I'm especially irritated that he is breaking his typical male pattern with this gem. I can feel all my muscles tense as I say, "For heaven's sake, Ben. This isn't a puppy we're talking about."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he says.

"You act as if you're offering to walk a damn beagle in the middle of the night! We're talking about a baby here!"

"I know that," Ben says.

"A baby that will completely change my life. Our life."

"I know that," Ben says again. "But our life will change for the better. I promise you that."

"You can't promise something like that," I say. "It's a ludicrous, impossible promise to make. You have no idea what having a child will do to us. Besides, there are many, many other reasons I don't want kids-aside from my love of sleep."

"Okay. Like what?" Ben says.

"We've been over them before," I say, not wanting to rehash my reasons or hold them up to scrutiny. "Many times."

But he presses me so I start out with an easy, albeit shallow one. I tell him that I don't want to be pregnant.

"Pregnant women are beautiful," he says.

I roll my eyes.

"Besides, you'll only be pregnant for nine months. A blip on the radar of life."

"Easy for you to say. I don't want to be invaded like that, no matter how short the time frame… And I like working out," I say. I know this reason is a bit on the lame side, especially considering the fact that I haven't even been to the gym in weeks.

"You can work out when you're pregnant, ya know," he says.

"Yeah, right. I've seen those women, laboring at a fast walk on the treadmill. They look miserable… And you know I'm thinking of running the New York marathon. Maybe next year. It's something I've always wanted to do," I say, which is true in theory. Running a marathon is one of my lifetime goals. But to date, I've never made it past four miles. I'm not very naturally athletic, unlike Ben, who runs and swims effortlessly. Still, when I see elderly and disabled people crossing the finish line every year, I figure I can do it, too. Someday.

"Well, we could always adopt a baby," he says.

"That's not the point, and you know it. The pregnancy is the least of it."

"Okay," he says. "So we don't have to have a baby immediately. I mean, we can wait a few years to do this. I don't need to have one now . I just want you to tell me that you're open to the idea of it."