consider having the kiddo when you're 30.
For whatever reason, the maternal age of 30 is statistically the ideal age for having children that are less frail, less obese, taller, and have better self reported health later on in life.
That said, we're quite the fans of our little Christian and Simeon (born at my maternal age of 24 and 26) and don't mind if they turn out to be sickly short chunkers later on, so long as they laugh as easily then as they do now.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
The Usurper
Lately whenever I've come home Christian yells "no daddy!" and runs away to grab onto Rachel's leg. I later ingratiate myself with him and we end up playing, but that's how my post-school routine usually starts. He's also started to come up and want a kiss when Rachel and I kiss. A few days ago I read a Eugene Fields poem that I thought was relevant.
To a Usurper
Aha! a traitor in the camp,
A rebel strangely bold,--
A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp,
Not more than four years old!
To think that I, who've ruled alone
So proudly in the past,
Should be ejected from my throne
By my own son at last!
He trots his treason to and fro,
As only babies can,
And says he'll be his mamma's beau
When he's a "gweat, big man"!
You stingy boy! you've always had
A share in mamma's heart;
Would you begrudge your poor old dad
The tiniest little part?
That mamma, I regret to see,
Inclines to take your part,--
As if a dual monarchy
Should rule her gentle heart!
But when the years of youth have sped,
The bearded man, I trow,
Will quite forget he ever said
He'd be his mamma's beau.
Renounce your treason, little son,
Leave mamma's heart to me;
For there will come another one
To claim your loyalty.
And when that other comes to you,
God grant her love may shine
Through all your life, as fair and true
As mamma's does through mine!
1885.
Eugene Field
To a Usurper
Aha! a traitor in the camp,
A rebel strangely bold,--
A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp,
Not more than four years old!
To think that I, who've ruled alone
So proudly in the past,
Should be ejected from my throne
By my own son at last!
He trots his treason to and fro,
As only babies can,
And says he'll be his mamma's beau
When he's a "gweat, big man"!
You stingy boy! you've always had
A share in mamma's heart;
Would you begrudge your poor old dad
The tiniest little part?
That mamma, I regret to see,
Inclines to take your part,--
As if a dual monarchy
Should rule her gentle heart!
But when the years of youth have sped,
The bearded man, I trow,
Will quite forget he ever said
He'd be his mamma's beau.
Renounce your treason, little son,
Leave mamma's heart to me;
For there will come another one
To claim your loyalty.
And when that other comes to you,
God grant her love may shine
Through all your life, as fair and true
As mamma's does through mine!
1885.
Eugene Field
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)