One other thing about the run-up to forty, you get a chance to revisit the "kid math" done when the little crumb-snatchers were little more than a vague idea at the business end of a boozy twentysomething Saturday night. Like, okay, if we have our first kid at thirty, when he/she is ten, I should still be able to kick the ball around, no problemo.
GOOOOOAAAAAALLLLAAAAZOOOOOOO! Dad rules! Dad rules!
That calculation was holding up just fine until Abby exploded a soccer ball off my face last night, which got me thinking, never do math when you think you might get lucky.