First of all, I don’t tell people what I do for a living, mostly because I don’t like talking about myself. I don’t even tell my neighbors, and I’m pretty sure a lot of them think I’m unemployed. At least one, though, thinks I’m a drug dealer because he, in a moment when his own dealer’s supply ran low, inquired if I’d be willing to sell him a dime-bag of marijuana. I declined the transaction. My morning begins the same as most people’s. My wonderful, beautiful wife gently wakes me up at 8:15AM when she goes to work, and then my infant son ensures that I stay awake by screaming at the top of his lungs from the room next door. As I swing my legs off the bed, I look at the mirror, where, taped to the upper right corner, is a hand written sign that says, “You wanted kids, too.” After I get up, my son and I play for a few hours in the living room. In that time, I’m usually vomited upon at least once. There’s also a fair chance that I will be kicked in the wedding vegetables as well. My friends with older children…