There are two things that become pretty popular with certain types of expecting parents as their due date approaches. One thing they do is act like their fetus has already landed and say “it’s Baby Nilbog’s first Independence Day!” even thought the kid is still trapped inside his watery tomb. Sorry, womb. I am not that kind of person. If I were, I might be pissed off that my son’s first baseball game was at Yankee Stadium earlier today. But since he wasn’t actually there, I don’t have to say that.

The other thing certain insufferable types of expecting parents do is start marking every checkpoint, holiday, event of any kind as “the last one we’ll ever have without a kid around,” i.e. “the last Christmas ever without Baby Jojo” or “the last beer pong tournament without a kid to get home to,” etc. I am not that kind of person either, but if I were, I might say that today is the last 4th of July I’ll ever experience without being a father. But I’m not that kind of person, nor do I give a shit about the 4th.

Fireworks are almost as pointless as parades. Almost. But I keep hearing that stuff I’ve typically considered stupid and meaningless will take on new significance when experienced through the eyes of a child. And fine, sure, I can see that. But the day I suddenly ascribe importance to Arbor Day or Flag Day or the last season premiere of “Mad Men” just because pretty soon I’ll have a son around is the day I give the kid up for adoption because I love him too much to have a pussy for a father.

There are lots of things kids are good for, and lots of ways they change your life. There’s no need to force it. So just shut up and watch the fireworks and be thankful you don’t yet have to clean up your kid’s shitty diapers after you eat your hot dog.

Not everything is about your baby. Sometimes, it’s about the United Fucking States of America.