Of course, he would tell you that he's a realist. I suppose that a true pessimist would be of the mindset that their fears and worries are entirely justified; otherwise, there would be little point to maintaining them.

Naturally, over the course of our relationship Eric and I have had many, many arguments stemming from our different outlooks. Not a few of them have had to do with Eric's health ("Well, if you don't care whether or not I have cancer..."), and many more have had to do with money. As was to be expected, though, the biggest conflict to date has been our impending parenthood and all of its ramifications.

Eric is going to be a terrific father. Of this I have absolutely no doubt in my mind. He, on the other hand, is having major doubts and major fears about his ability to care for, provide for, and relate to his forthcoming child. Mind you, he has had almost no firsthand experience with children, so his fears are blossoming into gargantuan proportions: this child will be a money pit, draining us of every resource and every dime until we are penniless and on the streets. The baby isn't a baby, per se, in his mind; it's a liability.

I, on the other hand, have been alternating between blissful happiness at my burgeoning uterus and great disappointment that Eric is remaining so staunchly uninvolved in my prenatal fantasies. Eric sees my happy optimism as refusal to see the potential stumbling blocks awaiting us. Boom! Ready, set, fight.

Yesterday wasn't so much a fight as it was a tearful attempt at compromise. Well, one of us was crying; the other was trying desperately to stop her, fearing what the other restaurant diners would think he was doing to the hysterical pregnant woman. Ahem. Eric brought up his fears once more: we were going to have no disposable income. We need a budget, and we need it now. Restaurant dining was going to have to stop for good; he would have to take a second job just to keep us in discount store clothing.

I told him what was hurting me: that I felt he just wasn't happy about the baby, that he was viewing it as a "bad thing." Of course, he hastened to deny that he felt that way.

"I'm happy about the baby!"
"Why?"
"Hmm?"
"Name me three reasons to be happy about this baby."

He looked at me for a long moment, and the silence stretched between us. Finally, he said, "Well, I'm happy that you're going to be so happy about this - "

"No, leave me out of this. I want to know why you're going to be happy."

The argument went on and on, never really coming to any sort of conclusion. Eventually I promised to try to be more mindful of our finances and Eric swore to try to be more positive about the fact that this was a child, not a payment plan. This isn't the end, though. I don't know how to resolve it, except to wait and see. After all, the little lumps and pains always turn out to be something other than cancer; maybe over time the fear of baby will grow equally benign.

Eric was a relatively quiet baby, but a little destroyer once he reached toddlerhood. His most notorious action was to wait until his mother wasn't paying attention, and then to pull a plug partway out of the outlet and drape a gold necklace over the prongs. When his mother rushed to the sound of the explosion and stood staring openmouthed at the blackened wall, little Eric piped up, "Didn't 'lectrocute me."

I, too, was a pretty easygoing infant, but was a terror once I gained mobility. While I never actually blew up any walls, I remember clearly an afternoon when my mother was occupied with baby brother and I quietly decided to see if I could light a match on my own. For protection of my little fingers, I oh-so-wisely decided to hold the match betwixt two balls of cotton. Even after I dropped the burning ball of fire onto the hall carpet, I kept from calling out for help, trying instead to run for water on my own. Mom heard my footsteps, smelled the smoke, and came to the rescue, thankfully in time to save the house but not to save the carpet.

Even if I were to operate under the dangerous assumption that our child will inherit our tendencies toward placid infancy, I still can't ignore the fact that the odds are strongly in favor of our producing a little mad scientist. Daddy's not helping, either, with his talk of providing the child with an old computer upon which to drool; my explanation that small things are easily jammed into floppy drives was dismissed far too lightly.

Anyway, I think I'm doing a pretty good job at limiting my optimism that our child will be a little angel who sleeps eighteen hours a day and spends his waking hours cooing and gazing adoringly into our faces. My problem? I'm having trouble being pessimistic about my ability to handle a difficult baby. I'm actually beginning to look forward to the challenge of a high-needs infant. Am I losing my mind? I just can't help remembering fondly those little hellions for whom I've cared in the past, the ones whose rambunctious behavior and loud screeches make much more indelible marks on my heart than their sweet, quiet counterparts. I can recall the frustration, but not without a rosy glow, I'm afraid.

They say that God only gives us that which we can handle. I hope his estimation of my abilities is more realistic than my own, or else I'm in trouble.

I think Eric is a mite jealous that his brother got the little girl that he himself wants so much. I still have no idea what sex our baby is, and we aren't planning to learn before the birth, but I think we're both trying to prepare ourselves for both outcomes. I would be delighted to have either a son or a daughter, but I'm a little nervous about Eric's disappointment should the child be male. He still refuses to talk much about baby boys, so I'm not sure how well he's doing with the notion that his hopes might not come true.

During the Superbowl, a commercial featured some children playing Tiny Tot football, and I smiled and mused aloud about whether or not we might have a son who would play the game. "'Little Bit Richmond, Halfback.' What do you think?"

"It's not without its charm," he murmured with a half-grin. Maybe there's hope for him yet.