These days, it feels like an extremely iffy time to be bringing new life into the world, as I am. I’ve heard it said that every generation feels this way—that they are at the end of history. My mother did duck-and-cover drills at school, and now my child will likely do active shooter drills at school. (I don’t think America will be able to fix its out-of-control gun violence problem before our little one enters pre-school in three to four years.)
But that bell, as they say, has been rung. I’m choosing to stay as closely yoked to the miraculous aspects of child-bearing and child-rearing as I can, in perpetuity. It’s a bond I’m making with myself and with the new life to come. It feels like a far better way to spend my time on earth, and an attitude far more likely to spur me to action to make the world a better place.1
In Utero
I’ve got a brief one for you this holiday weekend:
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