Dreams of our fathers

The great thing about a baby is that it’s the ultimate Marxist challenge to one’s self obsession. There are only so many hours in a day to worry about yourself, your career’s progress, and the meaning of your life, when your hands are full of poop—when you’ve had even less sleep than that wicked time when you partied all night. And unlike the many work projects that so easily fill our time, this one feels so important and wonderful, that it makes many of the successes I’ve achieved seem trite in comparison.

Dreams of Our Fathers

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