Page 49 of Brain Damage

Clark winks at me. “Very true.”

I take his hand across the table. He holds my hand for a moment then goes back to eating. “I think you’re too wrapped up in your practice,” I tell him. “Maybe there are some other things you can think about instead.”

“Maybe.” Clark shrugs. He picks up my glass of wine (my first) and steals a sip. “What sorts of things? Were you thinking about a trip somewhere?”

“Not exactly,” I say. I take a deep breath. “I was thinking maybe we could start trying for a baby.”

This idea didn’t come entirely out of nowhere. I had lunch with Brigid yesterday and her adorable new baby. Between her showing me roughly five million photos of her baby (including a few choice snapshots of the little one’s poop), I could see how happy she was. Tired, but happy.

I want that.

Clark starts to choke on his wine. A few droplets of purple end up on his white shirt. “A baby? Now? Are you out of your mind?”

“Clark, I’m thirty-six years old,” I remind him. “When am I supposed to have a baby if not now?”

“I didn’t even think you wanted a baby,” Clark says shaking his head. “You’re so caught up in work. When would you even have time?”

I wince. In previous relationships, men had always complained that I was too caught up with work. Clark had never said anything like that to me before. He had always seemed thrilled that I had a job that I loved.

“We could hire a nanny,” I say. “And I can cut back on work a little bit.”

Clark shakes his head again. “How are we supposed to afford that?”

“I’ve got enough savings,” I say. “It will be fine.”

Clark just keeps shaking his head.

“Before we got married, you said you wanted kids,” I remind him.

“Right,” he says. “I do want kids. Someday.”

“I’m thirty-six years old,” I tell him again. “How long am I supposed to wait?”

“Thirty-six is young,” Clark says. “You’re only in your mid-thirties.”

“No,” I say. “I’m in my late thirties.”

Clark waves his hand in dismissal. “So what? Women have babies in their forties all the time now. I think waiting till forty is completely reasonable.”

“I don’t want to wait till I’m forty,” I say. It’s like I’m deciding at this moment. I hadn’t been certain about the whole child issue, but I am now. I don’t want to wait till I’m forty. “It might be too late by then.”

“You always have to have it your way, don’t you?” Clark grumbles.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I stare at Clark, feeling the resentment creep over me. I don’t want to sit here and have dinner with him anymore. I’m this close to storming out the door of the restaurant. I certainly don’t have much of an appetite anymore for shrimp grits.

A waiter breaks our heated silence when he comes by our table and refills Clark’s wine glass. Clark lifts up his newly filled glass, swishes the liquid around for a moment, and takes a long drink.

“Listen.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “You’re right. I want to have a baby too, and we’re not that young. How about… a year? We start trying in one year.”

I smile across the table at him. “Yeah?”

“That will be perfect,” he says. “My practice will have stabilized by then, and we’ll be married for over two years when the baby comes.”

“Sounds perfect,” I say.

I actually feel kind of relieved that he doesn’t want to start trying right away. I’m scared of the idea of becoming a parent too, and this will give me a little time to adjust to it. And to get to know my husband better before we burden ourselves with a child.