We have a rule at my house: If you are there for the conception, you have to be there for the birth, too. That seemed reasonable enough since my wife was not likely to skip out.
Since I am a slow learner, we have five children. Still, I followed the rule, so I was there, assisting with the births of each of our children-- cutting their umbilical cords, cleaning them up, and warming them against my skin.
Because I love my children, I decided that the best way to show them that love was to have recessive genes. So when our first two boys were born, they had the good fortune to look like their mother. But I had the audacity to say, "Let's try this again."
As a result, when our third son was born, I was feeling proud because here was a boy that looked like his dad!
But tell me this isn't true-- he was born breech, and I was looking at the wrong end!
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