If you must have children, an argument for cleansing and doing it right

When I look at my precious ten year-old sons, I marvel at their innocence and beauty. I let my finger trace clusters of freckles near their noses. I gently brush back unruly, brown hair, with enviable red highlights, and kiss the softest skin around their eyes.

Then I usually thank God they are finally asleep.

When they are awake and my meds kick in, I often hug my boys and ask why I am blessed with two terrific kids.

My oldest by three minutes usually has the answer.

“You picked the right man,” he says.

I am glad that after only a decade of life, they understand the importance of breeding with the right person. I hope they remember this lesson in another decade when perusing strip joints and the occasional brothel.

I didn’t particularly want children when I first met my husband. Only eighteen, I had more important things on my mind.

Like tattoos and poetry and deciding which bars to try out my new fake ID.

After we got married in our mid-twenties, Husband talked about the idea of having children. I managed to hold him off a few years so we could begin our careers and travel. Then, toward the end of 1998, for the first time in over ten years together, I took a good look at the man.

…read more at Ether Books.