I'm Having an Inside Baby

By the time I was born, my parents had their DINKy time in dinky apartments and moved out of the city into suburban Philadelphia. The house on Harrison Avenue, where I lived for 18 years may have had its faults, but had all the trimmings a young child wants: a steep hill in front for sledding, twenty stone stairs to fall down toward the street, even a shuttered and mysterious insane asylum middle school just past the back yard. I loved exploring in our yard, creating trails up and down the front and back hills, digging up dirt and finding buried "treasure." My kid's gonna have to wait for that.

Just like cats, babies can be either inside or outside. Growing up, I had two inside cats. Once, the older one ran through the side door and disappeared for a few hours. She showed up later that evening, staggering and sobbing quietly; she had the same look on her kitty face that alien abductees have in television interviews. Something terrible had happened in her time outside. She was never quite the same.

Well, my kid better get used to being indoors. You see, mommy and daddy hadn't quite finished living in dinky apartments in one of the country's top-five most expensive real estate markets. We can afford to move and we can afford to buy. But we cannot afford a house, a lawn, a white picket fence. Our baby will call home a 1,200 square foot condominium in a mid-rise building on the outskirts of Washington, DC.

Who needs a yard when you've got parquet floors?

Granted, my child will occasionally venture outside, but by and large, my baby will be inside (mostly because daddy will NOT let him or her on the balcony). I don't think this will socially retard my child. Who needs friends from the neighborhood when you can just suck hard candies with the retired couple in 514 who daddy hits up for laundry room quarters?

Besides, inside babies are more tolerable. Ever been in an elevator with an annoying kid that wants to push the buttons for their floor, your floor, and five other floors no one wants to go to? My child will be sick of pushing elevator buttons by his/her first birthday.

I look forward to the natural father/child bonding process. I actually get a bit misty thinking about the trips we'll take to the trash shoot, taking my child to his/her first condo association meeting, and those nights you treasure, staying up late, listening to the dulcet tones of an ajoining unit's smoke detector. I am going to treasure these times together and chronicle them in a baby book, which will be kept safely in storage unit A-3.