It has recently been brought to my attention that I am going to be a father again. Seeing the ultrasound today really made me start to think. As I think about adding another member to the family, and the fact that my daughter will be turning 2 next month, I am reminded of why I decided to become a parent in the first place. Spite.
I know what you're all thinking and you can just climb down off that magnificent stallion of yours. The idea of wanting to be a parent is a selfish act to begin with, isn't it? You are basically claiming that the world would be better if there were a little bit more of you in it. That, somehow, the world as it is is incomplete with its current helping. My reason for wanting to be a parent is far more noble than this. The need runs much deeper than the natural animal instinct to spread my seed. It drives the actions of all middle children I know. It is the reason we wake up in the morning, and it is the reason we pretend to forget our siblings' birthdays. The reason is sweet, simple, magnificent, spite. Spite and spite alone drives me to do such a thing. When one understands the equation that brings about a middle child, one understands the reason for my actions.
In order for there to be a middle child (a child of whom can receive my love and affection), there must be a first and a last who receive my wrath. The coming of this second child marks the second step in my masterpiece. A delicate tapestry I have been assembling since the first time my mother unsuccessfully put me up for adoption. My son is on the way, and he will be the child of my affection. He will receive love and care the likes of which this world has never seen. He shall be showered with praise, excused of chores, and encouraged to learn how to use the potty at his own pace. There is no going too fast, and no going too slow. He will not be forced into any sort of organized recreation. His first word will be "yes" as he shall hear no other. He will be fed red meat until his heart wants to explode with joy! I will grow him as a prized fattened calf. I will take clothes given to our other children as birthday gifts, tear them apart, and knit them together as a coat of many colors for my son. And through my line, all middle children who know no victory, only defeat, no support, only anguish, and have never received the big piece of cake a day in their lives, will receive vindication.
The day of reckoning is coming!