by regular contributor Brian Hoover

I got a cryptic e-mail from a college friend the other day saying he wanted to talk. We didn’t really have a talk-on-the-phone kind of friendship, so I wrote him back and told him to give me a call. After catching each other up on our day-to-day stuff, he finally told me why he wanted to get in touch.

As a first-time father of a eighteen-month-old, I’ve been on the advice-seeking end of this kind of conversation more than the advice-dispensing (I can talk a decent game, but I’m as clueless as anyone). But my friend’s question had less to do with any specific act of fatherhood than it did a common but chiefly modern concern: When is the best time to start a family?

Once upon a time, it seems, this question was a nonfactor in our cultural experience. The best time to start a family followed hard upon exchanging vows: You got married, you had kids, you lived in happy pursuit of the American Dream ever after. There are many more paths to parenthood now that we have begun to recognize that the capacity to raise kids does not sit squarely with the white bread nuclear model of generations past.

We have more freedom now to plan our families than we’ve ever had before. With more control over our reproductive destiny, in terms of conception and contraception alike, we can wait until that ultimate state of Readiness arrives. We can wait until we’ve finished that graduate degree, wait until we’ve ditched town for a lawn in the ’burbs. We can wait until our careers are on bedrock and there’s money to burn in the bank. The inclination to say, “We’ll wait to start a family until we’re totally ready” is easy to understand. It’s what my wife and I did; we knew we wanted to expand our family some day, but that some day wasn’t even discussed until we were five years in.

At that point, she and I were 30 and 29, respectively. My wife had finished her master’s and ascended to the chair of her department at school; I had worked my way into the stage actors’ union and had steady income from a variety of performing and teaching gigs. We owned a home—not the house on the cul-de-sac of our wildest fancy, but a decent condo in a respectable school district. We’d scratched out a little bit of a savings, somehow. We were in a good place. We were Ready.

So we decided to go live without a net, so to speak. And it was good. We got pregnancy tests, and when they didn’t show us little blue plusses or whatever they were supposed to do, we kept at it. And it was good. Maybe a little more like work than we’d expected, but good all the same.

All around us, our friends were growing their families. The wedding boom we’d experienced post-college segued into a baby shower boom. We held our old roommates’ infants and imagined what our own would look like, hoping that it would happen for us soon so our kids could all grow up together. Some of our friends were getting pregnant with their seconds, and we remained the couple with the spoiled cat. We started to wonder about ourselves. Was she barren? Was I sterile? Had we screwed up the process by our chemical meddling? Or had we just waited too long after all?

We believed we were Ready, but we hadn’t accounted for difficulties conceiving. We hadn’t accounted for miscarriage once we did conceive. So we took stock, decided to be less aggressive in our pursuit, to let come what may. For every story about the couple who’d gotten pregnant as soon as they’d started trying, there was one about the couple who’d had no luck. Usually, the tales had it, they’d try and try, become stressed and obsessed, and it was only when they eased up or even gave up that they magically conceived. Perhaps that would be our story.

It wasn’t. We fell into a more natural rhythm, and we stayed as childless as we’d always been. We considered getting ourselves tested. We considered alternative fertilization methods, we considered adoption. We considered whether this was all a sign that the Universe had good reason to deprive us of offspring and that we ought not to push it if we had any sense of what was good for us.

When the housing market tanked, we were saddled with a mortgage far in excess of what our condo was worth; our savings meant a lot less in light of that. Acting work was harder to get, and the teaching was starting to wear me down. The future at large started to feel as infertile as the present and so, a bit restless, I applied and was accepted to grad school. It would be a rough couple of years and there would be lots of loans to repay, but we’d survived my wife’s grad days and we’d survive mine. The Readiness of a year or two before had been almost completely compromised, but it was all in the spirit of letting come what may.

We found out we were pregnant just exactly as all this was going on. Obviously.

And so I told my friend, in reply to his question about when’s a good time to start a family, that there is no such earthly thing. You can be Ready, and nature could have other plans. You could be completely Unready, and then it happens. Strike that: No matter when it happens, you will be Unready. The simple fact of the matter is that there is no amount of preparing you can do that will ever adequately equip you for the indescribable extremes of parenting. You are charged with making sure this tiny, helpless thing survives, because without you, it cannot. You love this tiny, helpless thing more than you thought yourself capable, even though it pukes and cries and never lets you get three hours of sleep and lays utter waste to your social life. At 3:30 in the morning, when your infant has a high fever or an erupting incisor, you’re not so much going to care about your 401(k) or how many more payments you have on your Nissan as you will about tending to this tiny, helpless thing so that everybody can get some rest.

Get your ducks in a row, if you like, or don’t—it doesn’t matter. There’s no such thing as the perfect time to start a family. No matter when you decide to start a family, parenthood is going to be the most glorious and god-awful hardest job you’ve ever had, and it will take precedence over everything else. You will do what you have to in order to ensure survival, The End.

I asked my friend on the phone several times, “Am I making any sense?” He assured me I was, but I’m not sure I agree. I talked in circles for forty minutes and I couldn’t seem to put my finger on the right thing to tell him about when to have a family. Frankly, I was worried that I was scaring the shit out of him.

When I told my wife later on about the conversation, she was able to distill it in a way that I couldn’t. “The only requirement for starting a family,” she said, “is wanting to have a family. Everything else will work itself out.”  She didn’t mean that you’ll have to do nothing. No, sir. But if you want to have a family, have a family. There will always be challenges—financial, reproductive, you name it—and you will have a lot of figuring to do along the way.

Just know that Ready is a myth.

You know that sweet honeymoon a new family experiences from about 5 months pregnant on? When everyone beams big smiles at your wife’s swollen belly in awe of the promise your future holds. When strangers, thugs, cops, and robbers look at your wife, stop what they’re doing, and guess at the baby’s gender and wish you well. When you’re pushing your stroller with the new addition and everyone—from children to octogenarians—coo and ahh and talk baby talk to him, repeatedly exclaiming how gorgeous he is?

When does that honeymoon end?

At the exact moment the baby’s annoyingness outweighs his general cuteness.

I’m sure that soon we will be transitioning from that cloud nine feeling to asking the same question that strangers inevitably will: “Who is this demon hellchild running down the street screaming at the top of his lungs?”

We’re still in the phase where people are glad to see us and our baby in a restaurant. Only because they think he’s cute and will manage to sleep the entire time we’re there. But soon, soon, he’ll be super squirmy and way more vocal, and then we’ll be forced to get dinner at 4pm before anyone else even thinks to eat.

We’ve seen those terrible two and three year olds in restaurants and on our block, screaming at the top of their lungs in the throes of an unspeakably meaningless tantrum. And we feel so sorry for his parents. But then we realize that will be us all too soon.

Unless, of course, we have the perfect child. And who of us doesn’t?

When did the baby honeymoon end for you and your family?

The past few days were a “holiday” weekend for most, but for my wife and I it was something altogether different. Why? Because we’re expecting our first child in about two weeks. Over the course of a few days, we spent 24+ hours preparing the nest for the new addition by visiting such awful destinations as:

• Lowe’s
• Target
• Trader Joe’s
• Fairway (our mega-supermarket)
• Lowe’s (again)

The only way to make these places remotely palatable is to go right when they open in the morning. The Target in Brooklyn was almost enjoyable at 8am on a Saturday. By 11, though? Pure misery. To the right, you can see our Target bill approaching national debt levels. The amount we spent over the weekend almost made me physically twitch, but it’s nothing compared to what we’re in for over the long haul.

The nesting instinct is said to be very powerful in women. You’ll hear stories of moms-to-be scrubbing the floors with a toothbrush and then having their babies within 24 hours. I’d argue that it’s almost equally strong for fathers—the instinct may not be as “hard wired,” but we know when things need to get done.

What obsessive changes did we make to the nest? Well, I’m lucky to have a very handy brother who helped me install new ceiling lights, assemble the crib, make a desk cubby (as we were losing our office to the nursery), and re-caulk the tub. My sister-in-law made us six freezer-bags full of meatballs and chicken cutlets for the first few weeks of parenthood.  So I think we’re as ready as a couple of folks can be.

What kind of power-nesting did you do leading up to the birth of your child?

If you’ve never even heard the word “doula” before, the Doulas of North America website defines it thusly:

A birth doula is a person trained and experienced in childbirth who provides continuous physical, emotional and informational support to the mother before, during and just after childbirth.

My wife and I have secured the services of a doula for our firstborn. I’ve done some research but was unable to discover the statistics of their use (i.e., where they’re used more, east vs. west, etc.). I’ve got a hunch it’s more of a coastal thing as there’s lots of ‘touch-feely’ action going on with the whole process.

There are some unsubstantiated numbers I found that describe the benefits of using a doula, but by no means take them as gospel:

• 50% reduction in the cesarean rate
• 25% shorter labor
• 60% reduction in epidural requests
• 40% reduction in oxytocin use
• 30% reduction in analgesia use
• 40% reduction in forceps delivery

Even if those numbers are inflated, if I were a woman, any kind of reduction in the duration of labor would be reason enough to go with a doula.

Granted, the services of a doula do not come cheap—especially as it’s totally out-of-pocket (I don’t believe any U.S. insurance company offers coverage for them). Our doula works on a sliding-scale basis, but even so, ours is costing in excess of $2,000. I know that sounds crazy to most of you (it did to me at first), but if we’re going to attempt a natural childbirth, this is a way of making it a possibility. Not only that, but I already view the kid as an “investment” and figure it’s a tiny fraction of what we’ll be spending on it in the months and years ahead.

We had a 2.5 hour get-to-know-each-other meeting the other day with our doula. She is quite knowledgable, which inspires a lot of confidence. After all, she’s been present at hundreds of births. And I’m excited to see how she makes things easier not just for my wife, but for me as well. Our doula is a soothing person to be around, and I suspect that will come in very handy come labor-time.

I will write another post post-birth to let you know how it worked out for us and if I’d recommend one or not. But it all depends on what you want from a birth and, of course, what you’re willing to spend.

Did you use a doula? Was it a positive experience? If you didn’t use one, tell us why we’re crazy to spend this kind of money.

Featured in last Sunday’s New York Times was a funny piece by Paul Schmidtberger on alternate spellings of kids’ names. Here’s an excerpt:

“Misspelling a child’s name won’t make Junior special, creative or unique. Y’s and I’s are not interchangeable, and apostrophes are not some sort of newfangled confetti to be sprinkled liberally throughout groups of letters. Parents shouldn’t impose cryptic, incoherent or foolish spellings on their own children, nor on society as a whole. And they shouldn’t condemn their children to a lifetime of bleakly repeating that, no, the name in question is spelled ‘Shaiyahne,’ not ‘Cheyenne.’ (And while I’m at it, don’t name your child Cheyenne, either.)”

Far be it from us to pass judgment on what anyone chooses to name their kid, but sometimes we just can’t help ourselves (especially when you remember such gems as “Jermajesty” or “Moon Unit”).

Naming a child is at the top of the parent’s to-do list: right up there with “making sure you have health insurance.” It’s also the most labored-over and longest-lasting decision. So while we should take care while making it, let’s not go overboard.

Because as we all know, name exploration is fraught with pitfalls: what sounds cool to you may sound ridonkulous to most other people. Come to think of it, doesn’t that drummer from Blink 182 have a kid named “Ridonkulous”?

What strangely spelled children’s names get your ire up?

See our earlier post on the topic of Baby Names.

“Imagine a world where the mother and father of a newborn baby don’t have a laundry machine in their building. Imagine onesies covered in drool and sundry fecal matter building up in the laundry bin. Imagine these tired parents loading it all into a wire cart and walking it down to the “Two-Way Laundromat” down the street. Imagine them picking it up later in the day, freshly washed and folded to the tune of $40. Imagine them doing this four times a month.”

Certainly, there are joys that come with living in New York City. But there are also very painful realities. One is that we’ve lived in an apartment for two years without laundry. This after living in Chicago with laundry in our condo. But with a baby on the way, this pain-point will become all the more agonizing. Of course this is nothing compared to the problems other parents are having around the world, but it’s our little challenge, and naturally we obsess about it.

So we’ve been spending the last few weeks trying to find an apartment with a washer/dryer. Through Craigslist, local online parent groups, tips from friends, and yes, even those real estate brokers (who kindly charge 12% of a year’s total rent for ‘finding’ you a place).

All the places we’ve looked at had laundry, but they just can’t match the size/layout of our apartment. Couple that with the hassle of moving a month before the baby’s due date, and we can see that unfortunately our future is laundry-less.

So we will continue to dream of being able to do laundry anytime we want. And we will still look longingly at those shiny Samsung and LG washing machine TV commercials (the only ads we don’t skip on TiVo).

To you we say: please don’t take that washer and dryer for granted.

Have you had a baby without having laundry facilities? Any survival tips for us would be most welcome.

Over the course of the past two weekends, my wife and I attended twelve total hours of birthing classes. While there, I was confronted with things that I had been actively avoiding my whole life: graphic videos of women giving birth.

I estimate we saw videos of 15 women crowning and then delivering their babies. No doubt a miracle—just a very messy one. All of us in the class (men and women) cringed at the ‘crowning moment’—every time. I suspect that unless you’re in the medical field, it’s unlikely you’ll ever become desensitized to such scenes.

During each delivery, I’d have to cover my mouth as it would remain fully agape in amazement. I’d also cross my legs very tightly. It was the most physical reaction to anything I’d ever seen on a television (with the exception of “Mama’s Family“).

I can’t quite believe my wife is going to attempt to give birth without the aid of drugs. I respect her for that, and will totally understand if she does end up opting for medication.

Where will I be when my wife is in active labor? I’ll be right there next to her upper body, helping her along. And nowhere near the scene that’s happening on the other side of the sheet.

Have any of you watched your wife give birth? Was it transcendent?

My wife and I are due mid-June, and we have opted to take some non-required birthing classes. Not everyone feels the need to attend these, especially since a total of 12 hours of instruction spread over only two days seems a bit much. Besides, with all the books out there, it’s easy to be over-informed.

But what if you want someone to distill all the book info, making it easier to digest? What if you want to be reassured that people just like you are going through the same things? Well these classes might just be for you. Yesterday was our first six-hour class, and it proved to be a real eye-opener; and in some cases, a real eye-closer (like when we watched real, messy birthing videos).

Up until this point, the baby situation never felt very real to me. Of course, a ton of things were happening to my wife, and she could feel each and every one of those changes. I could see her getting bigger and more exhausted, and feel the kicks, but it never fully registered that this little thing has a one-way ticket to our lives and is coming to change it forever.

The thing that made the experience all-too-real for me was our first look at the “dilation chart” (at bottom of image). When I first saw this chart showing the range from one to ten centimeters, I laughed nervously. Then I became silently horrified. Then thought how amazing it is that the human body is even capable of such a feat.

If I hadn’t already sobered up seeing the videos complete with afterbirth, then this certainly did the trick. What do people say the male equivalent of giving birth is? Passing a golf ball through the urethra?

When did your wife’s pregnancy become all-too-real for you?

My wife has picked the perfect time to start watching “The Wire”: her third trimester. And she’s now a proud, full-time resident of “Bodymore, Murderland.”

She’s become addicted to the show, much like I did during a stretch of unemployment last year (I inhaled all five seasons over the span of a few weeks). Back then, my wife would come home to find me in a heightened emotional state, and couldn’t understand that it was because all my friends had been picked up, harassed, or shot by the police for slinging drugs in the low-rises. Couple that with the fact that my wife has never been a fan of violence, I just assumed the show wouldn’t be for her. How wrong I was.

Here, you can see her enjoying the first season of the show, holding her unborn child lovingly as she ingests episode after episode of violence (and awesomeness). I’m not sure if it’s going to help or hinder the baby’s development, but at least it’ll help my wife get through the last weeks of pregnancy.

In the meantime, she’s like Bubbles, wondering when she’ll get her next hit. Constantly asking me, “When is more Wire coming? Let me see the Netflix queue!”

What did your wife watch during her last trimester: Scarface, The Wire, or the Saw octology?

This text originally appeared in a craigslist ad.