That was maudlin. And let me correct your misconception here. Babies are cute little bundles of joy, and you bank that joy against the time when they are screaming for no reason at three a.m., puking on you, and covering you in liquid shit. Also, as they age, throwing things, saying they hate you, and having a seemingly unerring instinct to stomp your nuts. Well, maybe that last part is just Max, who, at age six, keeps giving me shots to the nads that I think might not always be accidental. Anyway, it’s always joy and pain like sunshine and rain or whatever that crappy song was, and no, Mr. Rock Critic, I do not want to hear about what you think of the songs I don’t consider crappy. I’m sorry this is so hard. I hate to say I told you so—okay, that is a total lie. I hate to see you sad, but the upside for me is that I get to say I told you so. I told you it was going to be hard in ways you couldn’t imagine, and you said you didn’t care, that this was the right thing to do, that this is what you wanted to do, that it didn’t matter if it was hard, because it needed to be done.
