I got to see my babies this week and I’m telling ya, no mother could be any prouder.

You love them, nurture them, try not to smother them — but you never really know how they’re going to grow up. Always hard to keep the bad weeds away.

That’s why I was both thrilled and relieved to see how well my babies are doing. Sprouting up all over the place. Pretty good for their age. I can’t believe how many seeds I planted. I’m guessing it must have been about 200 in all. After a while, I just lost count.

No, this isn’t one of the daddy donor stories that went terribly wrong. You saw that movie?

I’m talking about seeing my bulb babies. Or as I like to call them, my bulbalas.

My hyacinths and daffodils.

Last October, on a blustery afternoon, I was on my knees scurrying around every flower bed, under every tree and along the rock wall in our yard, carefully digging up the earth to give the bulbs a suitable home.

The instructions were simple: Four inches deep … three inches apart … four inches deep … three inches apart …

I was about two-thirds done, some 175 bulbs in the ground, four inches deep … three inches apart … when Bonnie asked, “You remembered to plant them pointy end up, right?”

I just stared and thought to myself, “pointy end up, right?”

Good question.

I don’t think I ever really gave much thought which way to plant bulbs — probably because I never thought I would be planting bulbs.

Now that my fingers were numb from the cold ground, that question seemed almost comical.

I didn’t ask if it mattered. That would only give away the real answer. I hadn’t a clue.

Instead, I responded like most men would when asked such a silly question. I grunted, rolled my eyes and finished planting the last of the bulbs.

Four inches deep … three inches apart…

Oh sure, there were times in the long winter months when I wondered how my baby bulbs were doing, trying to survive just four inches from the bitter cold and snow.

How many innocent bulbs would never see the light of spring because I had left them pointy side down? I should have gone back for them. I could have done more.

When the last white patches of snow finally melted, I figured I’d get to see my bulbalas.

Instead, what I have seen are the white tails of deer moving in my flower bed, under the trees and along the rock wall like they were on a buffet line.

Now, I’ve never hunted. Just don’t think it’s in me to shoot an animal. Especially those cute deer. But waking up every morning to the sight of Pa and Ma Bambi and their bambinos munching on my bulbs like they were at some outdoor barbecue suddenly gave me the itchin’ for some venison.

I thought our dog Bitsy would scare them away, but she’s too busy sleeping to be bothered with our intruders.

Amazingly, my bulbalas managed to survive the snow, the late spring frost and those damn deer. And they look great. So many white, yellow and purple flowers dotting my yard provided the answer: Yes, I did remember, pointy end up.