What do you do if you’re beyond peak fertility, you drop ten large on science, and your wife ends up with two pre-humans instead of one?
A. Flip a coin on their behalf. Kill the loser
B. Give one away
C. Be happy
D. Feel despondent and write a sandy-vagina paean to solipsism on Huffington Post
To say we’re excited would be an exaggeration. More truthfully, we’re pissed. And terrified, and angry, and guilty, and regretful. Why regretful? Because we brought this on ourselves. This is what we wanted, so to speak. . .
Two blessings, two bundles of joy. How could you not be happy, you ask? Of course I’m sympathetic to people who can’t get pregnant, or who spend a couple of years trying IVF after IVF. But having kids is a selfish endeavor, and in these cases it’s all very relative and highly personal. In our case, my wife and I know better than to think that life with three children is going to be perfect. . .
With four months left to go, I’m not sure what stage we’re in at the moment — but it’s not acceptance. My wife and I even both privately admitted that we don’t like the new children, which is of course insane. Excited? We’re not there yet. Terrified? Yes, when we’re not practicing denial.
They say the most important thing is the kids’ health — but what about ours?
With every pregnancy, I asked the techs, nurses, and doctors numerous times to confirm there was only one heartbeat. When I received visual confirmation, I gave high fives all around. I’ve been around multiples; I’m not jelly.
But damn, man.
Kids are not just a bullet point on your life script. You cannot really plan them, even when you drop $10,000 for the opportunity to get the vapors. They’re people. But they’re really small and malleable. They’re generally not frightening. You don’t even have to like them. They may turn out better if you don’t.
But what about the parents’ mental health? We have to assume the author is referring to mental health because other than the increased frequency of blows to the balls, kids aren’t detrimental to physical health. Well, kids aren’t for everyone, but if you’re going to shell out much cash and devote that much effort to having one, then you should probably not be the baby in the equation. Rub some dirt on it and stop whining.
All that is immaterial though. Kids aren’t frightening, but I wasn’t wholly truthful when I wrote that. The prospect of children is frightening as hell. What separates us as humans is that some of us keep that shit to ourselves. We definitely don’t whine about how angry we are or how junior is the wrong sex or how the little demon spawn is derailing our carefully laid plans.
In an age where the self is supreme, babies are about us. They’re only people in the sense that Soylent Green was people. They exist to amuse us, to complement us. They’re little signals of what good people we are.
So tell me how this isn’t going to suck.
Stop being a solipsistic prick who thinks he can control everything and start learning to enjoy the unpredictable, that’s how. Otherwise, it is going to suck and it will be your fault.