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How is it that parenting doesn’t require a resume? No pre-requisite qualifications at all. Got uterus? Male implement at the ready? You’re in! Most other things in life have endless red tape to cut through or permissions to be granted. Licence to drive? Needed. Licence to build a house ? Needed. Licence to sell real estate? Needed. Licence to populate the world? Naaah, not required, knock yourself out.

It’s our preordained right, apparently. Society might have every expectation once the deed is done, as to how we raise them, feed them, educate them, dress them or organise their birthday parties, but where are these authorities when welfare-bludging, three-fingered, banjo-playing teenagers are producing their fifth, buck-toothed, immoral, graffiti vandal? Silence…

Of course, none of us are experts. Upon which yardstick would that be measured? Perhaps I would have failed this illusive pre-breeding test had there been one. Bit late for that now.

In my eleventh year of parenting, I learn every day, the skills required to raise healthy, thoughtful individuals. Surely I could not have known whether I was fit for the job beforehand or whether I would succeed at the task. Nor could the breeding jury. However, it’s my right to try, they say, and my skatie-riding, buck-toothed car thieves are just fine.

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