Baby proof

It is a good time for all, but I am very aware of the effect the celebration is having on Ben. He is swept up in emotion and clearly thrilled for our friends, but I can tell that he is also uneasy and wistful. Not quite sad, but as close as you can get to being sad without actually being sad. His expression reminds me of a single bridesmaid at a wedding as she listens to the twentieth toast of the night.

Just as we are about to take turns holding Raymond Jr., a lactation consultant stops in, and Ray asks politely if everyone would please leave. I'm surprised that Annie, who would have been burning bras had she been born a few years earlier, cares a lick about her privacy, but then again, don't they say a baby changes everything? We give Annie and Ray our final congratulations and tell them we'll be in touch soon.

As we ride the subway home, I am hoping that Ben understands that the party only lasts so long. That once you bring the baby home from the hospital and a few weeks pass, the champagne-and-casserole flow stops, and you're on your own in the middle of the night.

In case this point is lost on him, I let a few weeks pass and then call Ben and innocently suggest that we offer to babysit for Annie and Ray. Give them a chance to go out alone. Ben thinks it's a great idea. We conference call our friends who graciously accept.

So the following Friday night, Ben and I take a cab over to Annie and Ray's and climb the stairs to their third- floor walk-up (as I comment on how hard it will be to drag a stroller up and down the steps). I am hoping for a set of haggard parents, a messy house, the stench of sour milk commingling with the odor of dirty diapers. But Ray comes to the door clean-shaven and chipper, and I notice with dismay that their apartment is spotless. Neil Young's 'Good to See You' is playing a bit louder than you'd expect in a home with a new baby, who is sleeping angelically in his car seat.

'Where are you all going tonight?' I ask, eager to move them on their way. Leave the baby with Ben and me. Shine a light on our grand incompetence.

'Change of plans,' Annie says briskly. I note that she looks beautiful. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek chignon, and she still has that pregnant glow.

'What? Too tired to go out?' I prod.

'No. We're all going out. Table for four at Pastis awaits us!' Ray says.

I silently curse my choice of nice jeans, a basic black top, and flats. I can't very well protest on the grounds that I'm wearing babysitting garb. Not that my friends would likely accept an 'I'm wearing sneakers' sort of excuse.

'Are you sure?' I say. 'We wanted you to have some time alone.'

'No! We miss you guys!' Annie says, hugging me.

'So who is watching Ray junior?' Ben asks.

'He's coming along,' Annie chirps.

'Seriously?' I ask.

Annie nods.

'He sleeps all the time. He'll be fine!' Ray says, lifting his son's car seat up as if to prove the point. 'Hey-you guys wanna hold him before we take off? We have a few minutes… It won't wake him up.'

'Sure. Let me wash my hands first,' I say, remembering my sister's obsession with germs after her first baby was born.

I walk over to the kitchen sink and scrub in, considering my strategy. Should I jostle him a little and try to wake him? Should I feign an awkward cradle, proving that babies aren't my thing? I dry my hands and decide that such stunts might be too obvious. So I gently take the baby from Ray's outstretched arms. I cradle his tiny head with my free hand and sit on the couch next to Ben. We both gaze down at Raymond Jr., who is wearing a white cashmere onesie and matching cap. He remains sound asleep, and I can tell right away that he is going to screw me and play the role of perfect baby.

After a few minutes of conversation, Ben says, 'May I?'

Annie beams. 'Of course.'

Ben is a natural, completing my handoff with ease. Raymond Jr. opens one eye and peers up at Ben. Then he yawns, tucks his knees up against his chest, and falls back asleep. Ben looks smitten.

'Don't they look precious together?' Annie says.

I nod, feeling annoyed by my friend's use of the word precious. It is the first sign that she has changed. The old Annie would never have used a word like precious-unless doing so disparagingly.

Ben runs one finger gently over Raymond Jr.'s cheek. 'I can't believe how soft his skin is.'

Of course he can't have a little eczema or baby acne, I think.

Ben keeps gushing. 'Look, Claudia. Look how tiny his fingers are.'

Raymond Jr. clutches Ben's thumb, and I wonder how I'm supposed to compete with a stunt like that. The kid is good.

'Does he ever cry?' Ben says.

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.

three

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