Haiti & Twinkies

I know a woman adopting a third child, a boy from Haiti.  I am fascinated by this jump from a cliff and a little jealous.  I am in awe at the Olympian-like willingness to accept the necessary pain and take home the gold.  I am not an Olympian.  I’m the guy who gets in a car when the marathon begins and then waits in a bush near the finish line.

It’s the fact that he’s a third child that brings up issues for me.  Why did I stop at two?

I wish I was the kind of person who would go for the third child, the fourth child.  But I was too worried that I would be like my own mother, crazed with frantic rage, overwhelmed by too many children.  And often I believe I was right.  I am easily overwhelmed.

There is also a superstitious part of me that is afraid to ask for too much joy.  I punish myself so that someone else doesn’t have to step in and do the job.  That’s really what my overeating is all about.

But if I was out adopting children from Haiti perhaps I would have less time for pointless introspection and be forced to share my Twinkies?

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