well, I always wanted a kid (not 3, but that’s another story) and being married seemed reasonable enough. I like other humans around, etc. of course marriage too is extremely risky and scary. one of my favorite short poems about being married and having kids and aging and the whole enterprise being wildly out of your control:
A Little Tooth
Thomas Lux – 1946-2017
Your baby grows a tooth, then two,
and four, and five, then she wants some meat
directly from the bone. It’s all
over: she’ll learn some words, she’ll fall
in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet
talker on his way to jail. And you,
your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue
nothing. You did, you loved, your feet
are sore. It’s dusk. Your daughter’s tall.
[i also really like the use of the word flyblown there]
