"No, not yet. Maybe some day."
When people find out that my wife and I have been married six years, they inevitably ask if we have kids. We don't. Then they ask if we're planning to. "Why do you care?" I think. "Just because other married couples feel the need to augment their own relationship with crying poop machines who rob them of sleep and peace of mind, that doesn't mean everyone feels that way." Of course, that's just a defensive feeling. We really do want kids, and we are planning to have at least one and at most three but ideally two some time in the future. I just don't like the implication that we're not complete as a family if we don't have children.
I think one of Mrs. Happy's fondest desires is to raise a couple of children to be amazing adults who can change the world and affect the lives of everyone they meet. Even I have a subconscious, indescribable longing for progeny. On the other hand, I can't imagine myself actually being an effective father. Especially to a daughter. Sometimes I look at my wife, and my love for her moves me to tears—tears with no provocation other than her existence. If I have a precious little girl who looks like the woman I've pledged my life to, and who can't help being the most adorable creature in the universe, I'll just be a pile of mush until the day I die. Plus, I will severely damage every boy who even thinks about talking to her.
Nearly everyone is terrified at the prospect of parenthood, though, yet somehow people survive. My friend Rey just found out that the baby growing inside his wife is a girl. When he told me that, I said, "Whoa. I guess it's time to start, uh…"
"Worrying about the guys she'll meet when she's 18?" he asked.
"Well, I was going to say 'start building up an arsenal,'" I said.
"Sounds like a good idea."
Yeah.
