Perhaps you’ve read this before, and it is certainly a sign of my plummeting testerone, but I confess this little rhyme got to me:
The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
If this still gets you after the endless baby-rocking you guys have had to do in the last months, then you’re even more tender-hearted than I’d given you credit for. It’s a sweet poem, though. And that study is interesting. I assume the drop in fathers’ testosterone is permanent? An amplification of the natural decrease due to aging?