Sarah Crosbie's life: Birth control for your teenager?

Any moms and dads out there terrified that your teenage child is having sex?
I have an offer for you: You're welcome to send her or him to my home from midnight to noon to see just exactly what life is like living with a three-week-old baby.

Back when I was in high school, I know for me, and many of my friends, getting pregnant was 100 times scarier than getting a sexually transmitted disease.
Diseases are invisible. Baby bumps and babies are not.

So yes, I was having sex in high school. (But in my last year when I was almost 19 years old. Anyone younger than that should stick to the kissing, trust me.)
But, I was also probably the most careful sexually active teenager in all of Ontario.
Just to make sure no mistakes happened, I used the pill, condoms, foam and the always-sketchy pull-out method.

Now listen here: If I had known then what I know now I NEVER, EVER, would have had sex in high school.
EVER.
Because babies are hard, exhausting work.

Yes, I know, all you mommies right now are reading this thinking, "well, duh, Sarah," but I guarantee you that young people don't know they're this hard.

I'm a smart 29-year-old cookie: I have a honours university degree. I have a career. I read. I travel. I also have a supportive boyfriend who's by my side all night long telling me how great a mommy I am and, even though I have spit up on my shoulder, the bags under my eyes are charcoal grey and, I have to wear nursing bras that make your 70-year-old grandma's unmentionables look sexy, he still tells me I'm beautiful.)

And yet, nothing can prepare you (me) for life at 3 a.m. with a wailing baby.

Here's a little sample of what life was like last night. Feel free to clip this and give it to your daughter, who you're worried is spending far too much time "watching movies" in your dark basement with that sketch-ball boyfriend of hers:

10 p.m.: Watch CSI:Miami premiere. Sip tea and eat cranberry scones with my honey as we coo and admire our perfect, sleeping child;

11 p.m.: Realize it's raining outside and reminisce about all the romantic nights the boyfriend and I had listening to the falling rain. Daydream about falling asleep with my head on his shoulder;

12 a.m.: Realize baby has major gas as he starts to toot up a storm;

12:01 a.m.: Baby is wide awake, gurgling, hiccuping, kicking, sighing, playing;

12:02 a.m. to 12:40 a.m.: Breastfeed baby; change poopy diaper.

12:40 to 2 a.m.: Play with baby. Show him rattles. Put him in his swing. Talk to baby. Sing to baby;

2 a.m. to 2:30 a.m.: Baby asleep! Sing it with me: Hallelujah! Hallelujah! We sleep too;

2:31 a.m. to 3 a.m.: Baby awake. Breastfeed baby;

3:01 a.m.: Baby has more gas. Burping ensues. Also time to change poopy diaper;

3:02 a.m. to 3:30 a.m.: Baby wails and cries and wails and cries. More burping; Quietly and loving plead: "Please shut up. Please shut up. Please shut up. I love you but you're killing me. Please shut up. Please shut up. Please shut up. Please shut up";

3:31 a.m. to 4 a.m.: Baby obviously growing up to be a giant. Wants to eat again; More "Please shut ups";

4:01 a.m. to 5:30 a.m.: Mommy and daddy sleep;

5:31 a.m. to 6:14 a.m.: Breastfeed baby. By now, my breasts are throbbing because he's cried so much and my nipples (especially the right) are so sore from so much sucking that I cry for a couple of minutes. One bad latch can kill you;

6:15 a.m. to 7 a.m.: So tired, I fall asleep as baby wails for half an hour, leaving the boyfriend to lie in bed listening to the screams alone; (Sorry, BF. Love you.)

7:01 a.m.: Baby hungry. Again. Nipples are numb. I sleep with my head against the wall as he eats;

8 a.m. Someone calls the cellphone. Both baby and I are awake. Time to change poopy diaper again;

8:30 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. Baby, mommy and daddy sleep.


Still not enough to deter you, huh?

While all of this breastfeeding is going on, you're constantly going to be losing your breastpads. (Yes, youngins'. Think Maxipads for your breasts to sop up the extra milk. And you'll be panicking at 3 a.m. that you can't find the breastpad that has somehow slipped out of your bra because you're sure in your sleep-deprived state that your child is going to somehow inhale it and suffocate to death on it.)

Of course, at noon, once you've had some sleep, two cups of coffee, and a bowl of Special K, and your baby is staring at you with his big blue eyes and cooing, the pain of the night vanishes.

But there's another night just like it 12 hours away.