For men improve with the years;
And yet, and yet, Is this my dream, or the truth?
O would that we had met
When I had my burning youth!
— “Men Improve with the Years,” W. B. Yeats
We feel like we are getting to know this child already, the way she turns over or dances for us as the doctor shakes her awake to observe her on the ultrasound. We’re in for it, they tell us, about parenthood. We are getting tired of everyone warning us that the struggles of a new baby will leave us so tired. War metaphors …
This article appears as “Who Made Me?” in the May 6, 2019, print edition of National Review.