Join the club. I beg you.

Do you ever notice how new parents can’t help but proselytize to friends who are still on the fence about getting with child?  It’s like someone who gave up smoking and now wants her smoking friends to know how dirty and disgusting the habit is.

I never thought I’d be one of these annoying people, but I find myself barfing the joys of mommyhood all over my friend Anna, who’s visiting from New York and is so far happily without a whimpering spawn. And the funny thing? I’m still not even sure what the “joys of mommyhood” are or when they’re supposed to hit. I keep evangelizing not so much because I think parenthood will make Anna and her husband Paul transcend to a higher plane of existence, but because I want someone — a whole village, really — to be in the baby trenches with me.  I want Anna to know what it’s like to be shackled to an infant at 3:30 in the morning. I want her to feel the agony of a diaper blow out all over her leg.  I want her to know that as a mom, you’re the last line of defense.   Basically, I want her to be as frazzled , over tired and harried as me (I’ve also been sporting a disgusting, pulsating cold sore on my bottom lip for the past week, courtesy of new mommyhood, I’m sure).  Does this make me a good friend?  Mmm.  No.

But my pathetic little campaign came to a screeching halt this morning when I entered the living room with my whiny baby who quickly spat up all over the coach and Anna casually looked up from her iPad and said, “I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can handle having a baby.”

And there you have it.  My campaign must come to an end. But another part of me thinks, “Damn right, friend. Run for your life.”

"I am cuddly. I smell like the spring dew. I am starting to smile....."

"But don't be fooled....."