In the Pink

I’m almost fully pregnant. There’s not much for me to do. We’re about two weeks away from having a baby girl and I haven’t gained a pound. I feel fine. Never better. Thanks for asking.

We went to a picnic the other day. A woman with a 3-year-old girl told us “your life is going to change.” Stop the presses! This is my first child, but it is not my first encounter with children. The notion that my life was about to change had entered my mind over the past several months.

We were standing in line for the buffet and the little girl asked the woman for a plate. I said, “Amy and I have talked about that, and we decided that we’re not going to let the baby disrupt our lives any more than necessary — she’ll just have to get used to us and our schedule. We don’t want to have to turn down the music at the many parties we have, and we’re not comfortable telling our friends not to smoke in the house. We agreed that we’ll teach her some survival skills for a couple of years, but after that, she’s on her own. We think it will foster a healthy sense of independence and self-esteem.”

At this point in my rant the little girl drops the plate on the ground, breaking it into a hundred pieces. Naturally, she wasn’t wearing any shoes and had to be whisked away to safety — and someone went to find a broom.

“That will never happen with us!” I shouted over the ensuing chaos.

I walked past the window of a toy store the other day and it was like staring into a crystal ball into my future. I have seen the future, friends, and my future is pink.

I saw the Wiggles, Elmo, Clifford, Power Rangers and Pokemon, Powerpuff Girls and Hello! Kitty (anything, Lord, but not that cancerous talking eggplant called Barney).

I saw all of the new Bobby Shermans and Justins and Brads, whose images will adorn our walls, who we’ll come to know and love and hate.

I saw hundreds and hundreds of diapers. I saw drying off after thousands of baths, putting on clothes and shoes and taking them off again. I saw all the shoes and school supplies and medicine. I saw all the keys to all the hotel rooms we’ll stay in on vacations, and all the Do Not Disturb signs we’ll take home with us. I saw all the times I’ll have to punish her.

I saw all the dance recitals, Saturday soccer games, Sunday school classes, swimming lessons, tennis lessons, music lessons and parents’ nights.

I saw a place called LEGOLAND, Minnie Mouse, the CDs by whatever the next incarnation of the Spice Girls-Britney-Hilary turns out to be.

I saw all the nurses and nannies, the babysitters, doctors, teachers, camp counselors, coaches, tutors, professors and bosses. I saw all the friends she’ll make, good ones and not so good ones, and all the parents of those same kids that we’ll meet along the way who will become our friends. I saw all the cliques and teams and clubs.

All the toys and dolls and video games that are so critically important on the shelf that will be so neglected after the box is opened. All the card games we’ll have to endure until she gets up to speed in Gin Rummy; the board games and jigsaw puzzles with all their missing pieces.

I saw how many times I’d blow it as her dad.

I heard myself saying things like: Sit up. Sit down. Come here. Use your indoor voice. Pick that up. Put that down. Hurry up. Slow down. You don’t get dessert until you eat that. Don’t eat that. Three more bites. Say please. Say thank you. What do you say? Ask Mommy. Kiss your Grammy. Say bye-bye.

I heard myself saying those things a hundred times.

I saw her say, “You’re not the boss of me.”

What I couldn’t see was, of all the dolls in this store, which one will be The One. The one she drags around with her everywhere. Her blankey is out there somewhere, right now. So is the book I will read night after night, sometimes more than once in a sitting, playing all the parts in different voices.

I know it’s a long time to before she’s walking and talking, before the ABCs, kindergarten, the Tooth Fairy, summer camp, multiplication tables, a manicure, high heels, a boyfriend, a cell phone, middle school, the SATs.

I saw all the hairstyles, hair accessories, hairbrushes and hair care products. I saw her cry over a haircut. I saw so many tears you could fill a swimming pool. I saw so much love you could fill the sky.

We’ve got two weeks to go. Now I guess I’ll just have to wait and see. The future looks very pink indeed.

J.D. Smith is expecting the publication of his new book, “The Best Cellar” (Bonus Books) in January. Visit him at www.carteduvin.com.