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That's Sam's newest saying.

He hustles into a room, all smiles and sunshine, and sings out, "Hi, sweetie!" And then he toddles off, gurgling with laughter as he goes.

I melt every single time. If he did it 200 times in a row, it wouldn't lose its effect on me.

Not too long ago, I was talking to someone who said she couldn't ever imagine having kids.

"I like my private time too much," she explained.

"Yeah, you totally lose that," I said. When she went silent, I realized I'd been too glib. I quickly added, "but you won't mind. Well, you do and you don't. Your entire life changes, and you lose a lot of the things that are important to you before. But you'll love your kid so much, it won't really matter to you."

I don't think she believed me.

I mean, really, when you pro-con it, having a baby isn't a logical thing to do. You gain a lot of weight, and lose a lot of money and sleep. You can't go to the movies or out to dinner whenever you want; all outings for the next decade or more will require the planning of an international peace summit. Your sexy sandals with the little heels collect dust in the closet, while you clomp around town in a pair of clunky Birkenstocks. It doesn't matter how cute that sweater/skirt/pants are -- if it's not wash and wear, you won't buy it (or you will, and it'll get dirty once and spend the next eight months in a laundry bag that you really and truly mean to take to the dry cleaners, but never quite get around to it). You can't read, or watch TV, or eat, or sleep whenever you want; it all takes a backseat to the needs of the sticky little person at your feet who is hollering up at you.

And everything that used to be so routine suddenly becomes massively complicated: Do I work or not? If I work, what do I do with this needy little child while I do? Where do we live? What school do we send him to? Do I really have to buy a minivan?

It all sounds a bit grim.

Or, it does until your baby smiles up at you as though you're the most wonderful thing he's ever seen. Or when he wraps his fingers around your hand, and pulls you over to look at a seashell lying on the beach. Or when he leans back against you as you page through Brown Bear, Brown Bear for the fourth time in a row, his entire body relaxing until he's molded against you.

And then the weight gain and sleep loss seems like a small price to pay indeed.

Then again, talk to me tomorrow. If it turns out to be a day full of tantrums and tears, I may have a different take on the parenting gig at that time.

Posted 01 July 2005 at 10:05 PM