A Letter to My Unborn Child:

To My Unborn Child:

Relax, for if things go according to plan, I will not be conceiving you tonight. Now don’t get upset, as it’s nothing personal. What would have been your mother and I have been drinking a bit tonight, and we both just need a little responsible release here. How much have we been drinking, you would like to ask? Enough so that we hired a taxi service to drive us home tonight, enough so that we played quite a bit of slap and tickle in the backseat of this hired taxi service’s cab, enough so that we’re both busting at the seams and sweating profusely with pure carnal desire, but NOT so much that we are completely oblivious to what could be the consequences of rolling in the sheets without first taking the proper precautions. Which explains why I, what would have been your father, am walking to the nearest CVS pharmacy at 2:15 in the morning to purchase prophylactics.

Sure, buying prophylactics isn’t such a big deal for most people, but that’s because most people buying prophylactics aren't married men. Yet here I am, stumbling through the aisles of the drug store, comparing prices and doing clumsy math in my inebriated mind, trying to find out which box of condoms provides the best comfort with the greatest number of units at the lowest possible cost while still guaranteeing no seepage. I select the 36 pack of Ultra Ribbed Lubricated Latex Trojans, and proceed to the register. Why the 36 pack, you would like to ask? Because I didn’t make this trip for nothing, and you better believe that I’m not about to return home to what would have been your mother and have one or two or three of these suckers snap instantaneously as alcohol and excitement cause me to lose focus and get all careless, thereby leaving me with only one choice…walking straight back to CVS to buy another pack of prophylactics. If I plan on not conceiving you tonight, then I’m going to do it right.

So it’s off to the register, where CVS cashiers find sheer terror in drunken married men buying a 36 pack of Trojans at two in the morning. Perhaps they see my ring and assume I’m an adulterer, and then think of having me tailed to see which hussy’s house I return to, and then following me home when I’m done so that the next time I leave my house they can tell my wife about the pig she’s married to. And then when I arrive back at home, my wife would tell me the story, and the two of us would laugh over the presumptions of such suspicious people. It's the kind of story we'd love to share with our children one day, which of course will not include you, should tonight go according to plan.



"But why," you'd like to ask, "would a married couple need condoms in the first place? Why isn't what would have been my mother simply on the pill?" Well, genius, ever hear of something called an antibiotic? And do you know what happens when a woman on the pill takes antibiotics? Little mistakes like you, that's what! "Well, then, if you don't want to have a kid, and the pill is ineffective, why don't you just partake in oral stimulation or mutual masturbation," you'd like to ask? First off, what difference would it make to you? Whether it's intercourse or not, you're not going to be making it through to the other side. Furthermore, we're married professionals, not young dumb nineteen year old amateurs, meaning that oral and mutual are tools of foreplay meant to tease and titillate before the main event. Were you even paying attention earlier? This whole thing started with a little slap and tickle in the backseat of a cab, so it's certainly not going to end with more slap and tickle in the bedroom. Are all gametes this dense? If so, it's no wonder no one gives you a second thought, not even God, because the last time I checked, He's not even letting you into Limbo.

Walking home from CVS, I think of all of the things you will never have the chance to do with me. I will never play a game of catch with you. I will never teach you how to ride a bike or drive a car. I will never teach you about the facts of life. I will never take you to Disney World, or even Branson. I will never dress up as Santa Clause at Christmas or the Easter Bunny at Easter to nurture your childlike wonder. I will never teach you how to diagram a sentence or solve for linear equations. I will never break my bones to send you away to a university just so that you can piss away my savings by getting drunk and stoned everyday, inevitably leading to your academic dismissal. I will never leave you in jail overnight to teach you one of life's several valuable lessons. I will never teach you how to kill wildlife with your bare hands. I will never teach you to fear homosexuals by signing you up for the Boy Scouts. I will never teach you the Three Laws of Robotics created by the late Isaac Asimov. I will never introduce you to your mother.

I could go on, but I just returned home, and what would have been your mother did not pass out while I was away at CVS, which means it's time I wrap this up. That's called a double entendre. You'll never get the chance to know what that means. Unless you're reading this, in which case, Surprise! You're our little miracle boy, you defied all odds, you are what your mother is referencing whenever she says "the only safe sex is no sex." Please don't resent me. You could have been aborted. But alas, your mother might be a hypocritical Catholic, but she's not that hypocritical of a Catholic. Oh, and if you're a girl, please disregard all of this. You are my little princess, an angel descended upon Earth, and I will irrationally protect your so-called virtue and honor by threatening the lives of prepubescent boys, and heedlessly purchasing and bragging about my handgun.



Sincerely Yours,



Nicholas J Perez