And now, at an age and stage when having small children is rare, and oftentimes not even possible, I finally have the desire.

I want a noisy, chaotic house. I want small, wriggly bodies crawling into our bed before sunrise on Christmas morning. I want the backseat of the car to be strewn with goldfish. I want a funny, grumpy, tiny version of myself, of Russell, riding in a bike trailer behind me.