I knew a woman who had seven abortions. Seven. I'm pro-choice and figure that as a man, I'm entitled to my opinion but that's all it is. All the same, seven. Thing was, the world is a happier place with her seven abortions. She was not mom material and whatever special snowflakes she spawned didn't have anything to recommend them over every other unwanted child out there. I never planned on having kids. I was talked into it. You and I could swap stories about parental damage, no doubt. The baby seemed like a thunderously bad idea. She melts my heart every single day. I will screw it up. I worry about it constantly. But I also know my parents never worried about it and, despite their best efforts ("most mommies will tell their five-year-olds that they love them even when they're mad but I'm not like most mommies and if you don't stay out of my way you little brat I will fucking kill you"), I turned out largely okay. Never say never.