Conception Contention

When you own your own house, you have to collect items that you would never otherwise search for.
I went with Robert to Canadian Tire today.
Robert has a new house. And a new Black Lab (the bastard).
He had to buy the following items:

• a clothes dryer hose clamp
• smoke detectors
• a doorknob (with deadbolt)
• a basic phone for the kitchen
• little brackety hooks for hanging pictures

The idea that I may have to go shopping for the same items some day makes me want to live off of the land.
Then again, perhaps it's worth it for the sake of having a dog.
They say childbirth is a miracle.
That's the thing these days.
You have sex a few times.
Sperm swims to the egg, there. Well, I'm sure you all had Mr. Galloway's pop-up sex book to teach you these things as I did in grade six.
You've been on safari.
I don't need to tell you.
So, the sperm gets to the egg.
Missionary. Magical.
Incubation.
You rush to the hospital, shoot out a miracle, (probably) tack a stupid name onto it, and bring it home.
I'm into starting families.
'What a bitter slut, he is.'
No, I get it. I'll be tacking stupid names to little bald children myself.
But a miracle?
Come on.
Have you seen March of the Penguins?
I tried finding another animal, by the way.
So as to make this argument less mainstream.
I searched for gazelle reproduction. Whale shark. Storks (because of the fun duality between stork and human babies). Rabbits.
I had trouble finding anything concrete.
Mostly I found scientific periodicals.
I'm not dedicated enough to you people to read scientific periodicals - let's just get that out in the open.
So, here we are:
Male Emperor Penguins.
Travel for 90 kilometers in -40 degree weather.
Have you seen a penguin move around? Do you have any idea how long that would take?
They search out a female penguin that they're into.
They bone. Missionary.
Incubate.
Toss out an egg a few months later. The mother is so taxed from the delivery she immediately has to enter the sea to eat.
She won't see her wee chick for an entire season, and will then have to pinpoint her offspring amongst a whole Chili Pepper's concert worth of penguins.
The male has to hike back with the egg in his little pouch, until it hatches 65 days later.
He can't eat the entire time, by the way.
And between the two parents there isn't a single thumb.
We use drugs.
Stirrups.
Surgical implements.
The mother is coached, months prior, on how to inhale and exhale at showtime.
There is a team dedicated to the big moment.
There is a person designated to hold a warm, soft blanket to immediately wrap the baby in as soon as the infant is massaged out of the mother.
If that's a miracle, penguins are messiahs of a whole other caliber.