4 Kids Would Really Piss My Parents Off

What’s it like being a father of 3? Endless bliss, each sweet child of mine becomes a new automatic of me. But where do we go now? After my wife of 8 years wants to cut me off from more because we’ve had one too many already. Insisting on me pulling the plug on my life shooter for good. Meaning do I get a Vasectomy next? Moving forward, do I become a sperm implant-her or sperm terminator? That is the question Andrew Dice Shakespeare.

This is me starting a fight with my wife at home. “Hey babe, if you do a Vasectomy search on Google. What website do you think shows up the top, Web MD or Planned Parenthood? Wife says: Planned Parenthood. I say. They don’t have enough monopolized power over your Fallopian Tubes already?

I can picture myself at the doctor’s office now: Hey doc, tell me if you’ve heard this one before. A Vasectomy screams I’ve got enough knots in my back already from 3 kids. So, one more in my groin won’t make a difference.

Hey, doc, I hear some doctors in NY state won’t give you a Vasectomy without your wife’s approval. Does this mean men’s productive rights is a fake news Oxymoron Doc? Also, off the record doc, does Planned Parenthood in New York State offer comped trips, including top shelf Don Julio Tequila open bars, for any insider trading referrals you pass to them as a form of a finder’s fee? Doc, don’t leave, I’m only joking. Be honest with me doc. Is a Vasectomy really permanent? Like Stephen Colbert’s twerpy persona when he doesn’t have a buffoonish Bill O’Reilly persona to hide behind along with funnier writers at Comedy Central at his disposal. In medical school for Vasectomy 101, do they teach you how to untie a triple knot with your teeth or is this considered mere Cub Scouts child’s play in your book Doc? I wouldn’t know because I’m a useless Jew who never joined the Cub Scouts or had a dad who taught me how to change a tire, let alone, hondle for some moving help at Home Depot on the cheap.

I’ve been a dad since I’ve been married more or less. On our honeymoon in Australia, my wife’s home country, originally. Is it a Continent Country? The Queen of England is still on their money, Australia used to be the largest prison, chain gang colony per square capita in the universe, I don’t get it. All I know, is we wanted to get married in Australia, yet my mom shot down the concept real fast. Mom calls. Australia is a very long flight from New York and your father doesn’t love you that much. So, I made my wife a compromise at the time. “Hey babe, assuming we have a boy one day, instead of hiring, a Rabbi for the circumcision, will hire Crocodile Dundee. Just so we can hear a roomful of Jews quote: Now that’s a knife, you can chop it all off with that thing.” So, on the 5th night of our honeymoon in Australia in our honeymoon suite, my wife squeezes a stream of milk from her nipple across the room. Which signified the end of our honeymoon phase on the spot. Ever since, our Queen size bed has turned into a 24/7 open milk bar for 3 kids eight years and counting. Finally, baby Samuel is starting to sleep in his brother and sisters’ room. I have my office till March when my daughter turns 8. So, am I really in such a rush to bang out a 4th kid? Which automatically kills any shot of reverting our Queens size bed into a bouncy castle for mommy and daddy for old times’ sake.

Having a 4th kid fills me with dread knowing it would generate another no-show visitor gathering in my kids hello world welcoming party in his honor, from family and fake friends on my side of the marriage equation. Not that this is a reason to negate having more kids, but do I really want to put myself through such forced I don’t give a shit, me against the world feeling angst again? Sure, some friends passed the friendship litmus test after the birth of my lucky number 3 Samuel, Head Banger’s Ball Kornbluth, by celebrating new manifestations of me through texts, phone calls and Facebook DM’s. But I wouldn’t call any of these buds Godfather in the making material either. On a tad deeper level, I suspect these old buds of mine think having a 3rd kid is my own pathetic excuse to play stay at home dad another year longer until I start choking my wife too hard financially.

I also worry about pushing my luck with having 4 kids in total, knowing only Arthur Morrison, was planned in the 1st place. He’s my f you dad baby. Who came to life in mommy after we did some boom boom. Only after my birthday lunch with my dad in town, proclaiming, in cavalier disgust. Don’t plan on having another kid because I can’t afford it. You mean the 1 batch of plane tickets a year to fly us out to your Arizona Estate Shrine to you and mom? One more kid coming right up, Arthur Morrison Kornbluth, to be exact. The name works beautifully because Art Show was born in the true spirit of f you parental rebellion.

Matilda our 1st wasn’t planned. My wife, the fiancé tears and says: I’m pregnant. 3 months before our wedding. At the time, I’m thinking now push for the abortion and don’t be a pussy about it. Thank God I didn’t. Because now my 7-year-old daughter Matilda can shove a lost and found copy of the Kama Sutra from my office in my face and say. Daddy, why haven’t you told me about this book before? And by the way, it’s very sexual. Also, what does the Kama Sutra mean anyway? I reply. It’s a guidebook to giving pleasure for those you love more than yourself. For 20 seconds spurts at a time. My daughter adds. Are you any good at it? I say. Sure, once daddy is pulled into the preferred port of entry. This conversation is over now Matilda. I hear Child Services lurking at our door as we speak. But seriously, would a 4th child produce inspired new material like this?

A 4th kid would illuminate Facebook Grandma’s inertia on both sides, but I don’t need a painful reminder of this. All I have to do is get another pair of bargain bin black socks on Christmas from my mother in law again to nail this point home. Nothing screams I don’t a shit about making you feel like a Godsent special, permanent addition to our boring Gentile family outside of our daughter, then a pair of bargain bin black socks year after year. You know the gift is cheap when the cost of postage is more than the gift itself. My best reply so far to receiving more bargain bin black socks for Christmas for eight years running is: Great gift, at least now, I can postpone laundry for another week.

I forget to mention our lucky number 3 baby Samuel was conceived in Buffalo at an old High School friend’s wedding for our 1st weekend getaway from our 2 kids prior in 7 years. Just when I was getting cocky, thinking, I got parenting 2 kids under control no problem. Then, God throws me a curve ball and gets my wife pregnant because pulling out on time, is obviously not my forte. Knowing, I wasn’t touched by girls much during my teen years. As a result, I tend to get more overexcited than most, which explains why I still can’t last much past 1 Mississippi.

We call our baby Samuel baby and I’d like to keep it that way. He’s our lucky number 3 for a reason. Also, as they say, the “rich get richer, and the poor get more children.” Well, I’d like to reverse that trend in its tracks already. At the same time, I can’t complain about a 4th automatic fan of me on the home front. Mama would be overruled by our own Supreme Court Bench in all issues pertaining to Men’s reproductive rights. Plus, 4 kids would really piss my parents off with more than Judge Jeanine Pirro on the View charging my parents ilk with Trump Derangement Syndrome.

The End,

By

Michael Kornbluth

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