Daily Local News (West Chester, PA)
Getting closer to ‘19 Kids and Counting’
My wife wants to have a fourth child.
I want to hop on my motorcycle and head on down to Costa Rica. I don’t own a motorcycle, mostly because I’m afraid to ride a motorcycle, though I probably would get one of those three-wheeled jobbers. Those look sturdy. But my wife wouldn’t let me anyway, so it doesn’t matter. Moot point. Where was I ...
Oh yes: My wife and her yearning uterus.
Can you believe it? We have three kids. They’re fine, as kids go. I mean, they’re cute and annoying and smart and silly like all kids, but they’re mine and so that’s cool. But to add another to the mix? It seems like it should be illegal.
There should be a limit. Three seems like a good limit. Otherwise you run the risk of a Duggar situation. Those lunatics have 19 kids (and counting). (And if those 19 kids each have 19 kids, and so on over the next seven generations, in about 2150 there will be — and I swear I’m not making this up, I did the math — 16.1 billion Duggars roaming the earth, more than twice the current population of all non-Duggars. That’s too many Duggars, you ask me, except for that Jessa. She’s hella cute. Are we still saying “hella?” I don’t think we are. I feel like I’m losing my train of thought here …)
On my good days, I’m in agreement with my wife. Why not have another kid? I liken it to drowning, as in: If I’m already drowning, adding more water isn’t going to hurt. Adding another kid isn’t really going to affect the day-today at this point.
But on my bad days … motorcycle, Costa Rica, etc. (For the record, my wife and current kids are more than welcome to come with.
They can hop a flight, meet me, whatever. I just want to feel the wind in my hair, my motor running, small bugs in my teeth.)
Truth be told, the good days outweigh the bad days when I contemplate life with theoretical baby number 4. Besides, who am I kidding? If my wife wants another kid, we’re having another kid. I’m not going to win this battle if I tried, short of a back alley vasectomy.
Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? ME: Where’s the baby? MY WIFE: The oldest has him. ME: Her? MY WIFE: No. Him. ME: Who? MY WIFE: The baby. ME: Yes. But which oldest? The boy oldest or the girl oldest?
MY WIFE: Boy. Have you seen the second youngest?
ME: She’s fine. She’s playing Hot Wheels in the toilet.
Seems manageable.