I made that up, but it’s probably not far off. Age 28 seems to be when the avalanche of friends having kids is moving at maximum speed.
So when I came back to Smithers this summer it was no surprise that some of my friends had signed on as keepers of the human race.
I wound up living with a pregnant couple for the duration of the summer. I only planned to stay a couple weeks but way lead to way and I lurked in their basement - not unlike their future teenager - for a full 40% of their pregnancy.
Andrew, Sue and I have been roommates in the past and despite the living belly that was now part of our ensemble, nothing much changed in our relationship, we went to bed early, got up and worked, came home, ate dinner, had a visit and went to sleep again.
The major difference was how much I learned about pregnancy. I knew some basics about babies - trimesters, 40 weeks, only happens to women. I also know that people tend to get sick when they’re first pregnant and that they shouldn’t drink wine or eat too many ketchup chips, (though I think it’s great when pregnant women eat ketchup chips).
But I discovered there’s a lot more to it - the deep sleeps, the constant peeing, difficulty putting on shoes. Sue’s baby came two weeks late and I saw her quietly peeved each time some near-stranger made a passing comment like, “you look ready to burst” or, “must be past due!”
“Yes thanks for noticing it’s been great having this Sherman Tank in my belly for an extra fortnight. “
Spending the summer with them was great, but it was clear from the start that once there was a baby in their house I’d have to pack up. I moved out in early September, into the house of another pregnant couple (I know, I know) who lived on a hobby farm. I had enough chores to do and space of my own that I operated like a servant at Downton Abbey - tending to the needs of his lordship and her ladyship until I skipped town completely just a few days ago.
After the birth of Andrew and Sue’s baby, I waited anxious as an olympic skater to be invited over to meet the new baby. I wanted to be part of their lives again, but with no blood connection and nothing to offer in the way of child rearing skills I was forced to wait it out to see the little guy for longer than I wanted to. I’m embarrassed to admit this was an ego thing, I wanted to be the first friend they called, I lived with them all summer, pretty much did the whole damn journey with them. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my reaction was similar to an older sibling’s when a new little brother or sister shows up.
I was finally cleared for a visit about five days after the birth.
I pulled up in front of their house and jumped out of my car. Usually I run full speed across their front yard and burst through their front door and say something loud like “HEY” or “GUYS” or “PHEW” like the town of Smithers is being attacked by hordes of rutting moose and now I’m safe.
This time I ran down their yard at top speed and stopped right before touching the front door. I took a deep breath and let it out slow, out of the corner of my eye I saw the orange light of the fireplace in their living room.
I opened the door, “heeeey” I said, in a low voice, taking in the change of environment. The social structure we had built as a three pack had disappeared from the house. Something thick had entered the previously light atmosphere of three childless amigos that cooked and cleaned and ranted together.
A few minutes after I showed up another young family stopped by for a visit. The couples talked kids - birthing them, putting them to sleep, feeding them. I sat quiet on the couch, consciously stopping myself from adding much or trying to steer the conversation away from the baby talk these new parents needed. I had nothing to offer and was disappointed that the three of us weren’t carefree kids anymore. I felt like a brat for the difficulty I had in keeping the events of my day unmentioned while the baby talk went on.
After the other family left I got the three of us some A&W. Two teen burgers and some onion rings. Andrew and I ate the teen burgers, but Sue refused to eat the onion rings. In hindsight it was a bad choice. I looked at the onion rings and looked at her breastfeeding baby and understood that these onion rings would end up being part of her breast milk, and for a minute the fast food we were eating became sinister and disgusting and probably should have been outlawed altogether.
I was struck by these changes, the sudden insignificance of all three of our lives as we sat together - it was all about this one new life. I was taken aback by how worn out Sue was, her voice, always booming, was weak the way a voice is right as you’re about to sleep. I thought new parents were so overjoyed by their creation that the love they felt would be enough on its own to drive them forward. Their love could overwhelm any doubt or frayed nerves damaged by endless crying and sleepless nights. I believe that a little less now, the love for a child takes time to develop, looking after a brand new baby seems less driven by naive adoration and more like an act of duty, or a test of resolve … a show of character. The love is there, but it grows bigger over time.
Before I left, Sue had to get up and use the bathroom, I was standing in her path and she handed the baby off to me. When she left it was just me and this thing, barely a human, glassy eyes with massive pupils, unable to hear much, no teeth, can’t even do one pushup, just a helpless little thing. I stared at it in wonder, feeling like I’d hopped the fence at a zoo and was holding a pup of some exotic species. A huge fart erupted underneath his diaper and he made a face that must have been some primitive expression of ecstasy.
A few minutes later I handed him back to Sue. Attempts at sleep come early with new parents and I left not long after, closing the door quietly on my way out. That baby is lucky to have those two.