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Some guy recently wrote a blog post for a website called Babble.com, it was picked up by the Huffington Post as well. The article, authored by Anonymous, is titled: “My Wife’s Expecting Twins and I’m Not Happy About It”. And, it’s clear from the text, he’s not kidding. He explains how he and his wife, after having a child several years prior, conceived twins using IVF. They wanted just one child but ended up with two. This news made them both “angry” and “regretful”. They aren’t excited, he emphasizes, and they wish they’d never tried to get pregnant. They briefly considered a “reduction”, also known as aborting one of the twins, but decided against it. They hoped for a birth defect to “give them a reason” to abort but, tragically, their children are both healthy. It will suck. It’s going to be horrible. It’s a nightmare.

And so on.

Now, me and my wife are also expecting twins. I do not share this man’s sentiments. He has the right to express them, as all poisonous, resentful people have a right to inflict their negativity on the universe, but I do find it quite unfortunate. So, with that said, I thought I’d balance out the equation by adding my own perspective as a man whose wife is also pregnant with twins:

First, of course I have my fears and apprehensions. I know it will be a struggle. I know we won’t get much sleep. I know there will be added financial strains. I know a hundred things could go wrong every day, and at least fifty things probably will. I know there’s plenty I don’t know. I’ve never been down this road. There will be worries and stresses that come along that I haven’t even thought of yet. It will not be easy. I know that. Two kids at once — good Lord — yes, it would have been easier to start with one. I have no pretensions, I don’t expect sunshine and rainbows every second of the day. I expect plenty of work, and grief, and sleepless nights, and dirty diapers. Oh the diapers. Many, many diapers.

And, yet, I’m still happy. I’m ecstatic, actually. I don’t feel cursed — far from it — I feel like I’ve won a cosmic award that I neither deserve, nor earned. I’m in love with my kids already and I haven’t even met them yet. How is that? I don’t understand it. But it’s real. Here are these still-mysterious lifeforms that my wife and I created, and they are ours. How hopelessly spoiled and shallow would I have to be to not appreciate the beauty of this? I might be scared sometimes, but how could I complain and whine and lament the inconveniences in the light of this astonishing miracle? That would be like witnessing the birth of a star and responding with a yawn and a grumble. Someone kindly backhand me in the face if I ever become that sort of dull, jaded, excruciating bore of a human being.

I know there will be many sacrifices I will have to make for my children, and I’m ready for that. In fact I’m eager. After all, what am I really giving up? Down time, free time, TV time, money, sleep, independence. Fine. I’ve been there, I’ve had that. I’ve had a couch, a TV and nothing to do. I’ve lived for myself, and walked around every day thinking of ways to entertain myself, support myself, feed myself, and serve myself. This is why I’m a firm believer that every man, ideally, should spend a while living on his own before he moves into marriage and children. And I mean on his own — not with roommates or dorm mates. Alone. Totally and completely independent. I lived that way for five years and, for the record, I got along just fine. My home decor, and perhaps my diet, left a lot to be desired, but otherwise I functioned well as a single bachelor. I enjoyed “doing my own thing”. I could go where I wanted, when I wanted, for as long as I wanted. I could do what I wanted. Nobody had any input. I answered to myself and myself only. And now, because I had my fill of that for about 60 months or so, I know better than to idolize it or covet it. I’m ready to give myself over to something greater. Notice I didn’t say “glamorous”, I said “greater”. I’m ready to pour myself into something, I’m ready to serve, I’m ready to become something that I’ve never been. I’ve done a thing that can’t be undone, and it’s terrifying but it’s also transcendent.

If there’s one negative feeling I possess towards this whole situation, it’s my feeling of unworthiness. My children will have a piece of me in them, and, frankly, I don’t think there are any pieces of me worth duplicating. My children are beautiful and pure, and I am not. They’ll call me “Dad”, and my wife and I will be the center of their tiny universe. Little will they know that I’m really just some random dude, I’m nothing special. But I’ve been given something special, so I guess I better live up to the moment.

So to the guy who hates his kids for committing the crime of being conceived: I think you’ve got the wrong perspective on this, man. You seem to live in a rather thin and superficial world, where beauty and love have no soil in which to grow. It’s sad and I pity you. But if you and your wife can’t see this for the miracle that it is, I suggest giving your children up for adoption. Your kids deserve to be loved, not resented.

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