DADWAGON

The answer to this Tantrum question is pretty easy. Let’s look at the facts, shall we? Your kids are annoying. They scream behind me on the airplane, they intrude on my special bar time, they shoot my kid with water pistols (okay, Theodore’s kid does). Should you have another goddamn one? Hell, no.

But if we adjust the question slightly—should I, Matt Gross, have another goddamn kid?—things get much more interesting, I think we’d all agree.

First, let’s look at this on a practical level. If Jean and I had another child, we’d be spending more money, time, and energy raising it. We might feel constricted in our present situation and consider moving—not a pleasant prospect. We’d also have to figure out another name for a child, because apparently we can’t name them all Sasha Raven Gross. (Or can we?)

And we’d have to figure out how far apart to space them. Sasha’s now 19 months old, so if we were to conceive tomorrow (a challenging task, given that I’m in Morocco and Jean’s in Brooklyn, but I’m willing to give it a shot), Sasha would be roughly 2.5 years older than her sibling. Is that good? Is that what I’d want? To me, frankly, it seems like not quite enough distance. I want one kid well toilet-trained before I have to change another diaper. (Also, I come from a family where there’s at least four years between siblings.) Jean, however, points out that kids closer together can be better friends. She offers as proof of this herself and her brother, with whom she almost never speaks.

It all pretty much boils down to: Do we want another? And frankly, we have no idea. So, we recently came to a decision. Or rather, we decided to let Sasha decide.

Yes, that’s right. If my darling daughter one day asks us for a baby brother/sister, we’ll do our best to oblige. If she doesn’t, we won’t. And if she asks us for a puppy, we’ll tell her to go live with the downstairs neighbor.

Now that Spain has won and the Spanish are trying to figure out how they can possibly drink more over the next week than they do on normal weeks, I will have to stop thinking about soccer for another four years.

But before I do, a word about soccer for 4-year-olds. Dalia has also wrapped up her brief soccer experience, two weeks at an indoor kiddie place called Super Soccer Stars (I know, annoying name, right?) in our neighborhood. And while she never quite learned in her time there to sit on the couch, drink beer, and yell at the stupid fucking refs for 90 minutes the way I can, I think she likes the sport. I can tell this because she brings it home with her–sets up pillow-goalposts in the living room and instructs her little brother to kick the little plastic Wall-E through them.

My wife got to see her on the small Astroturf pitch at Super Soccer Stars, and gave a mixed report. Half the time Dalia seemed to enjoy herself, and she understood the aims of the game pretty well throughout. The other half of the time she entered into a mode she’s been known to slip into from time to time, a sort of active self-pity. According to eyewitness accounts, she would keep running, but her arms would go limp and she would start sobbing “this is so hard, this is so hard,” while chasing after the ball. Which, based on what I saw Sunday, is a style of play that would qualify her for the Dutch national team.

To really emulate the Dutch team, though, she might have to combine soccer with her other extracurricular.

Today, I’d like to announce on DadWagon that in several months I will be joining Nathan in the ranks of the bi-procreative (a silly word I just made up, which I want to mean that I will have a second child, but probably just means I make babies with men as well as women). That’s right: My girlfriend is six months pregnant, the bells are ringing in the world capitals, and JP has informed his pre-school teacher that there’s a little sister (who he for an unknown reason calls Sasha, the name of Matt’s daughter) living somewhere in my girlfriend’s tummy.

The various impacts of this impending birth: I’m going from really broke to actively in danger of going to debtor’s prison; I had the intense pleasure of telling my still-wife (yes–we’re not divorced yet) that I’m having another child; I get to inflict my highly developed parenting skills on a second baby; my relationship with my girlfriend has gone critical (alert Homeland Security–we’re serious); and, of course, I’ve evened out the ratio of single-child to multi-child families on DadWagon.

Let the bitching begin.

Lately, there seems to be a fascination in the media with this whole having-children business–why do we do it; is it pleasurable; how does the division of labor work between the sexes; how to create a perfectly stylish diaper.

Clearly, those of us on DadWagon are, at least on the most basic level, in favor of kiddies. But that doesn’t mean we want whole teams of them. I’ve never discussed the issue with my colleagues here, and I’m curious where Matt and Chris–this site’s mono-procreators–come down on the issue of multiple issuance.

Here’s my take: Life, for the most part, is a big game. Forgive the Sartrian cynicism, but who hasn’t pondered the great futility of what we have so irresponsibly termed Our Time On Earth? Children recognize this–all they do is play games. As we grow older, we seek ways to make these games more complicated, demanding, and ultimately, more rewarding, however that reward is defined. Blocks beget tiddlywinks which beget checkers, then tennis and football and first-person shooters. Relationships must be games, too, or there wouldn’t be any romantic comedies for the women and girls in our lives to insist we watch with them. Jobs are games as well; why else would we play politics? The main thing is that as we become adults (and I use the term very loosely), the games get bigger, the stakes increase, and the play become less recognizable as such–it starts to resemble something we have been taught to understand as Life. This doesn’t lessen our need to play games, nor does it do away with the desire to make the games harder. The payoff is in the complexity, as with any game: You get out of it what you put in.

Is this a way for any sane man to think of his children? Of course not. And, in truth, I don’t think of this way, not all the time. Mostly I plow forward through the days, not thinking of much, worrying when I do think, about the future, about the past, and struggling to care for the various structures I’ve built around me–job, home, love life, pets, kid(s), money, safety, satisfaction, desire, sarcasm; and hopefully it doesn’t come crashing down around me, and if it does, that I have the energy to rebuild everything again.

Either way, I’m thrilled to have a daughter coming into my life, in part because without meaningful relationships, like those we develop with our children, life really is a game.

Just came across this on the “neighborhood wiki” (can someone tell me what the fuck that is), Columbia Citizens:

Um, its Farmers Market day and I just saw a parent hold their child up next to a tree in Columbia Park while the child peed and POOPED. Then they picked it up in a plastic baggie. Although I am very grateful that they picked it up, the whole thing was very disturbing and I am left wondering if this is a new trend. Is this acceptable parent behavior?

Most responses to this were in the negative: No, your little one should not shit in public and then be looked after like your dog. Peeing, yes; Crapping, no. Hell, no, crap, no!

There was one commenter in favor:

Are you people serious? Relax. What is it with us Americans and our fear anything related to accepting our natural bodies. A kid took a crap (that was picked up). Who cares? Do I think adults should go around using the bathroom in the park? No. But if a kid had to go, he/she had to go. I think it’s great for the child. Get them comfortable with themselves. Or maybe we should continue to instill in them a fear of nudity! God will strike you down for exposing your birthday suit. If this was some sort of epidemic, then fine, be concerned. Otherwise, mind your own business. There is nothing better than seeing the park full of kids playing on Wed’s. Maybe our efforts should be focused on making everyday in the park like Wed’s farmer’s market. I can’t imagine a better way to build community than by coming together as families in the park. I’ll take kids running and screaming with joy any day. If once and a while one craps on the ground, I can live with that. Why did it have to be the puritans that settled the US originally? Really screwed it up for the rest of us.

If the Puritans prevent us from having someone’s kid take a dump at the farmer’s market, I’m in favor of reopening witch trials.