…for better or worse. Try to stop laughing and not take sides when you read “Figure It Out? Figure It Out? O.K., You Figure It Out!” by Catherine Lloyd Burns in the New York Times last Sunday.
An excerpt: In my next life I’m coming back as a man. I will have sex with my wife and knock her up, and then in the hospital I will watch while she figures out how to get the baby out of her. And after my daughter is born, I will play with her when I’m in the mood and stop when I’m not, and I won’t get all psycho about it. I will throw her up in the air super high and get her wound up right before she’s supposed to go to sleep, and then I will let my wife, her mother, put her to bed.
I will have the best body I’ve had in years because having a newborn means that I will get up so early in the morning, I will end up going to the gym regularly. If my child doesn’t eat or sleep or move her bowels for days or weeks on end, I won’t worry about it.
“Would you stop worrying?” I will tell her mother, my wife. “What do you get yourself so worked up for?”
And then I will go out. I will enjoy life more than I did before I had children because fatherhood has shown me dimensions of my heart I could never have imagined, and everyone I know will agree it’s made me a much better man. At night I will sleep like a baby because I am a man. I know it is my wife, her mother, whom my daughter will hate in 14 years. Not me.
It gets better… My wife laughed at how familiar it sounds.