My wife believes that she’s pregnant. By the end of this weekend, we should know for sure. At the risk of her reading this, I have to say that I hope she isn’t pregnant. I have many reasons for this. They include the fact that I’m almost 53 years old and my wife is 40, neither of us has jobs and our prospects of ever landing jobs that pay good money are almost nil, I think I would be a terrible father in terms of having the common sense for raising a child effectively or teaching it practical skills, I would probably have to abandon indefinitely my independent studies and writing and focus almost exclusively on working and child-rearing, and I believe, Louis Armstrong’s wonderful song notwithstanding, that this is a pretty ugly and overpopulated world into which to bring a new child.
However, if my wife is pregnant and nature keeps her that way, we will have the baby, unless medical testing reveals severe genetic defects. Why would we have a child, given my feelings about it? The answer is simple. I love my wife dearly, and my wife wants to have a child. When she is around her nephews or other children, her face beams with happiness, and her happiness is my happiness. And as much as I doubt my potential to be a competent father, I have no doubts whatsoever about my being able to give my child what it probably needs most—my complete and unconditional love and devotion.
So, we shall see what this weekend brings in terms of a yes or no answer to the question that is foremost on both my wife’s and my mind, and if the answer is yes, a new chapter in our marriage and lives may very well begin.
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