Read Online Babyhood (9780062098788) by Paul Reiser - Free Book Online

. . . Plus, the place across the street makes a banana muffin like you wouldn’t believe.”
    Being out in public with an obviously pregnant woman has some strategic advantages. For one thing, there’s nothing that makes strangers more hospitable. It’s the VIP pass of all time.
    â€œI’m sorry, we have no tables available.”
    â€œI see . . . Did you notice my wife’s belly, by any chance?”
    â€œOh, look at that! You’re pregnant! God bless you! Right this way . . . Anthony, throw those deadbeats out of table seven. This lovely woman is pregnant.”
    People do anything for pregnant women. For many, it’s the last vestige of social nicety. They may be rude and malicious toward every fellow man, but if a woman is bulging with child, most people, I was relieved to discover, will knock themselves out to be courteous. Seats are offered; groceries are carried. An occasional dessert is served on the house. Some couples, however, try to take advantage.
    â€œPardon me, I know this is not store policy, but my wife is expecting, so I’m wondering, could you give us a free pasta maker?”
    At the same time, the indisputably pregnant belly also invites a lot of conversation and attention from people whose intimacy you don’t necessarily welcome. It’s such a public statement. When you see a pregnant woman out with her fella, you can deduce not only that she is with child, but also that he’s the one who did it. “ That guy did that to that woman.” It’s a pronouncement to the world that you’ve clearly been having sex. A pregnant belly is, essentially, a hickey for grown-ups.
    And there was always the barrage of questions.
    â€œIs this your first child?”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    â€œBoy or girl?”
    â€œWe don’t know.”
    â€œWhen are you due?”
    â€œSoon.”
    â€œHow soon?”
    â€œSoon.”
    It wasn’t until they walked away that it hit me.
    â€œSoon? The kid’s coming soon?”
    â€œYeah, soon.”
    â€œWow . . . I had no idea.”

This Is It
    I don’t remember everything. I do recall we were eating pizza. My bride and I were eating really good pizza and watching a movie where Katharine Hepburn plays tennis. I remember that she played very well, and that it didn’t seem to be a stunt double. That was definitely her hitting the ball. I remember Spencer Tracy was upset about something. And I remember my wife getting off the phone with the doctor and telling me, “He says we should get to the hospital now. ”
    That’s where my memory gets spotty.
    I recall getting up to shut off the TV and cleaning up the kitchen remarkably thoroughly. I was wiping crumbs off the table, wrapping the unfinished pizza in Saran Wrap nice and tight, rinsing out glasses not once but two, three, even four times. I folded the pizza box in half, then in half again, and just before I got it down to the size of an overseas postage stamp, I heard my very pregnant wife say, “What are you doing?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWe have to go. ”
    â€œOh, of course, I know . . . I was just cleaning up a bit.”
    I wasn’t cleaning up just “a bit.” I was scrubbing up with an attention to detail unprecedented in our years together. I had moved the couch so I could get a clear shot at vacuuming the entire carpet area.
    â€œMaybe you could do that another time,” my wife suggested violently.
    Up to that evening, I had fully expected that with all the built-up tension and anticipation, I would virtually scoop my wife and child-to-be up in my arms and fly out the door the second I got the sign.
    What I didn’t expect—and didn’t understand till months later—was that when the moment actually came, it would scare the hell out of me. I knew instinctively that the instant we stepped out of the house, our lives would never be the