Just had a long conversation with a co-worker/friend (more of a friend than a co-worker) about having kids. We’re both at that stage in our respective marriages where having kids is now a topic of concern. At first, I wanted them and the Missus freaked out over the whole idea. I became less enthusiastic about it while her mothering instincts seemed to drive her further into my former mental territory. Now I’m not sure what to think. On one hand, I see it as The Great Thing, a furthering of my genetic material, of passing on the evolutionary torch before I die. On the other side of the coin, I’m finally working myself into a groove with me. I’m learning who and what I am (hint: it’s mostly water and carbon based molecules, with a few extra herbs and spices) and after thirty years of running around trying to please everyone, I’m setting my own pace and learning to please myself. I worry that I may lose that pace soon, at least until these unseen cherubs of mine move out of the house.

Of course, now I have more important things to wonder about. Summer vacation plans will have to include the question:

Will an attack happen? To me, it’s a matter of statistics. Several other countries have lived with the threat of bombings for decades. For some, like the Middle East, it’s simply a way of life. For us to sit at the top of the global pile and not expect to get attacked is ludicrous. For me, I’ll buy some more batteries and add to my bottled water collection. The most you can do nowadays is simply accept your possible fate, shrug and move on.

It’s things like this that color my thoughts on kids.