Yes, babies are expensive. But can you put a price on dying happy? I think not.

Everyone has one. The shit-stirring, problem-causing, loves to be hated jerky friend.

In Hot Tub Time Machine, they describe him like this: “It’s like that asshole friend everyone has, except he’s our asshole.”  (Unfortunately my guy has never tried to off himself in an exhaust-filled garage, though it wouldn’t take long with his ginormous gas-guzzling truck.)

My butthole friend is actually my husband’s friend. I’ve met him just once, but we’ve talked via Facebook hundreds of times. Let’s call him Chad Bowry.*

He is sans children, and he knows that we’re currently going down the road that inevitably leads to baby ownership. And being the shit-stirrer he is, he never passes up an opportunity to remind us how expensive a kid is going to be.

I posted a Facebook status about the $1,081 pharmacy bill I had last week, and Chad commented that the kid is way more expensive after it’s born. Clothing, doctor bills, daycare, stupid baby gadgets (seriously, a baby wipe warmer? since when is getting your ass wiped supposed to be pleasant?)…. yada yada yada.

Talk about shocked — I had no idea that babies cost money! I figured we could clothe him in prairie grass, feed him breast milk until he can shoot, skin, and smoke his own food, and send him to daycare in our basement with a couple of diapers and a box of Legos. Thank you so much for clearing up that misconception! </sarcasm>

I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m not looking forward to this first stage of baby. The labor won’t bother me, or the actual pregnancy part (though I am not even pregnant yet, and already I can’t have a beer — sooooo irritating). But the infant stage, with all the screaming/pooping/not sleeping/being blobby stuff… I am really not looking forward to it. So I really appreciate someone making me feel even worse about it.

I am looking at parenthood this way — and perhaps it’s the wrong way, but don’t you try to tell me how to think about something as major as parenting, okay?

I’m thinking of parenthood like investing. And I don’t mean Bernie Madoff-style investing, where you get a huge return in a freakishly small amount of time.

I’m talking REAL investing, where it takes a while. It will be painful in the short-term (parting with your money for immunizations and friggin’ bouncy seats) but rewarding in the long term (watching your kid hit their first home run, or the first time she tells an adult “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” and she’s right).

Yes, my kid is going to be expensive. But let’s compare that to the cost for a nursing home, which Chad will be paying after his cats all die and his wife is gone and there’s no one left to care for his old incontinent ass.  Besides, if you die in the company of your cats, they’ll only wait a few hours before they start eating you. Gross.

Nursing home price aside, you can’t put a price on dying happy. When I kick off, it’ll be surrounded by my offspring and their offspring and people who love me. The house I die in might be small, but at least I won’t be alone.

Remember Citizen Kane? He dies alone in his mansion. Sounds like a crappy way to go.




*Not his real name.  But close.

Why stop now? Keep reading, friend.

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