Meghan Bahn

“I never really sleep anymore.”

“I barely remember my own name.”

“I haven’t been alone in two years.”

The reports from friends on the parenting front conveyed images of torture. And the thing is, the way these friends looked pretty much backed up their stories.

I’d been married for a little over a year when I went out to drinks with my college roommate Julie, who had recently gotten married herself. I ordered a Manhattan with a twist and was feeling pretty goofy when I heard Julie say, “Wouldn’t it be great if we both got pregnant?”

What was that?

“Our kids could grow up together,” she chattered on, spelling out her plan and ending with: “That’s settled. Call me when you’re pregnant.”

Julie’s always been like that. Once she sets her mind to something, well, it pretty much happens.To be fair, only a week before this fateful drink date I’d asked my mother-in-law, “Why do people want to have children if it’s the hardest thing they’ll ever do?” She was the mother of three and known to have really gotten into momhood. Yet she shrugged and said in a sincere voice, “I don’t know. It seems strange, doesn’t it? Let me know if you figure it out.”

Hmmm.That conversation seemed to indicate I was thinking about parenting BEFORE Julie unveiled her plan.

A couple of weeks later, I was brooding about the difficulties of life as an artist when it occurred to me: As it is with art, so it is with children.

I went to my mother-in-law’s house.

“I figured out one reason to be a parent even though it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do.” She looked genuinely curious. I went on, “Because, that’s what you want to do! That’s the life you want to experience, and you are willing to pay the price for it.”

It sounds simple, but it made sense to me for the first time.

That evening I got a call from Julie. “Are you pregnant yet?”

“No, Julie, I’m not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m not pregnant!”

But actually, I was.