I didn't want kids for the longest time. After all, I was a complete fuckup. My parents, who have three bachelor's degrees, a Master's and a Ph.D between them, really fucked things up. I had met many a broken human whose catastrophes were clearly caused by their upbringing.

But the thing is? Common sense goes a long goddamn way. Golden Rule takes you the rest of the way. And the little ones start out from a baseline of loving you unconditionally. Early on, whatever you do it must be right because you're doing it.

I've had a crisis of faith because the kid is so easy. This says one of two things:

(1) I was a truly horrible kid, well beyond the abilities of my parents to deal with me

(2) They were truly colossal fuckups, the depths of their incompetence previously unguessed by me

So either I hate myself more, or I hate my parents more. But my kid? She's got no hate for anyone, least of all me.

Yours won't either. They'll think you're the greatest daddy that ever lived, until you're older, and then they'll probably take things on balance.