OPK; Other Peoples Kids

Sitting in the hospital watching Charissa being prepped for delivery I cannot help but think about the words that I had always muttered, "I hate kids!" It seems like poetic justice that we are having our second little bundle of joy early this morning. The thought of having any more kids will be of no more concern after the delivery, unless it is through immaculant conception, which I'm sure that we are safe since Charissa is no longer a virgin, except in the eyes of her mom and dad, and God sometimes questions my skewed sense of Religious Politics by having me toil away in this world of purgatory called horse training.

On the drive to the hospital this morning, at the butt crack of dawn, my mind was thinking about how I wandered down this crazy path of having kids at 40 along with the thoughts of how I still really hate kids, just not my own. I think it must have been some kind of a genetic defect on my part since everyone in my family has been really big fans of kids, having kids, and pretty much anything and everything related to kids. I, on the other hand, had never even held a baby until I had Jax and then they handed him to me wrapped up like a Chiptole burrito and said "follow me". I will admit that I was pretty dazed and confused about the whole process and scared crapless about having to care and provide for someone other than myself. I had thoughts of being the old guy at all of the school events where I was old enough to be most of their grandpa's. Now I just have thoughts of being 60 years old when I might finally be able to slow down a bit and relax; I just hope the slowdown is not caused by the result of arthritis or a broken hip. Now I need to make it clear that I don't personally "hate" your kids, unless they cause harm to one of mine.

Going to the daycare to pick up Jax takes all of my strength and courage just to open the door. All of the kids are running around like a bunch of Spider monkeys hyped up on Mountian Dew at a Greatful Day concert. Snot dripping from their crusty noses, staring at me through their squinted matted eyes, and coughing all of their antibiotic resistant germs into the air that I'm going to breathe. Holding your breath will not work, I've tried. All that happens is you turn blue, your eyes roll back in your head, and you wake up as a jungle gym for 27 grass stomping ankle biters. I'm sure that all of your kids are angels that never do wrong and obey the rules as if they were newbies at boot camp. But I know better; I have seen them when your not around, and it's not the stuff a Hallmark movie is made of, more like Poltergeist. So if you would like your kids to be perfect, well behaved little angel,s you are more than welcome to use my two kids as examples. They have learned their class and style from their dad, so most of your kids will benefit from the lessons learned. Now you know that I am just playing. I love all kids, except for a couple who shall remain nameless.