Mommy Warbucks

I have decided if and when we have a baby -- I will be the bad parent. I don't mean bad as in beatings or alcoholic rages or buying Barney DVDs -- I mean bad as in sucker. I think we should probably take out a second mortgage on the house right now, just because I fear the word no will disappear from my vocabulary once I'm knocked up. In less than 24 hours two things have happened to reinforce my fears. First of all, Luke came down with a cold.

Luke is what is known in most circles as a "hypochondriac." He loves wearing band aids, always thinks his nose is bleeding and usually responds to questions about his health with tales of a "really bad cold." It's like my grandmother has been reincarnated as a four year old. When Ryan and I took him to the dog park the other day Ryan warned him against getting his socks wet for fear of blisters. The moment the words came out of his mouth blisters instantly formed on Luke's feet. We spent the rest of the walk with him convinced we would have to amputate when we got back to the car. But, today, he was really, honest to god sick. My father called in the morning to let me know he was staying home with him until my sister could get off in the afternoon. I asked him to put Luke on the phone and the minute I heard his little snifflely voice I only had one question "what can I do to make you feel better?" Promises of presents started pouring from my lips as if I could bribe him to get well. I couldn't stop myself. Normally I am a very soft touch with that kid anyway, but during this phone call, I was promising trips to Tahiti and mountains of toys.

The second instance happened just moments ago -- at Starbucks. I was waiting in line for my afternoon fix when a little boy, maybe seven or eight, burst through the door sobbing. Today is his birthday, he had saved up his money -- and Build-a-Bear was out of the turtle he so desperately wanted to stuff. My heart was spurred into action. I had to make this child stop crying. I thought about buying him another bear so he could save his money for the turtle, I thought about going to Build-a-Bear and making a turtle out of lesser loved animals fully in stock. I actually considered buying him a real turtle. I dug into my pockets, only five bucks. Luckily for my bank account I had left my debit card behind.

Ryan is definitely going to have to be the hard ass. I just can't do it. Yes, I can be demanding, harsh even, with reporters, and waiters and telephone salespeople, but none of those look like children. I guarantee that if telemarketers were all under ten I would have bought countless time shares and cable television plans by now. Any hopes for our children not being the epitome of spoiledness is in the hands of my capable husband. Well, him and the good people at American Express...