Having a child is basically like lying down in front of the universe and screaming "come screw me."
It's an invocation of chaos, a tempting of fortune. You're shouting the name of the Scottish play in a crowded theater; you're taking down the garlands of garlic over your door; you're opening the window wide. Sometime will go wrong. Something always goes wrong. You're asking for it.
On the surface of it, this is unwise. We are none of us at our most graceful when faced with adversity, and adversity is what children bring to the table in one form or another: they stink, they howl, they steal away your sleep and your sanity. And that's before they get to middle school.
On the other hand, capitulating to your fate -be it ever so poopy- is curiously freeing. You have no control- but you never did have, really, and at least, when you have kids, you get to learn this lesson at the hands of something genetically programmed to make you think it's cute.
Bring it, kiddo.
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