It's all my fault because I was going to name him Ebenezer, so you said you wanted a girl, to which I replied, "then her name shall be Ebeneezra."
It's all my fault because I play around with gas and oil and solvent all day and I don't wear gloves and don't you know that that garbage absorbs through my skin and makes my sperm swim in circles?
It's all my fault because for years I had my head firmly planted in my cornhole and I secretly didn't want this and I was afraid of it and even prayed against it sometimes.
It's all my fault because I'm not even that good at providing for the kids we already have, and if you aren't at the shop to help I don't know how we'll manage.
It's all my fault because I am neither patient enough, loving enough, or kind enough.
It's all my fault because maybe it's like when I brought home the stray kitten and had such good intentions but as she grew into adulthood my affection quickly subsided into indifference.
It's all my fault because I wanted it to happen so much my teeth ached and I felt as though this blessing would mean I had truly come full-circle.
It's all my fault because I can't go back in time and punch myself in the face and get myself together before the window of opportunity snapped shut.
But I wanted so much to sing, as a lullaby, "Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing," especially the part that says:
Here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by thy help I'm come
And I hope by thy good pleasure safely to arrive at home
I don't know if that will ever happen. I don't know. I don't know.
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