I fell asleep.
Unintentionally, but it was a nice 45 minutes.
Nice except for Oprah.

I don’t mind Oprah. Once in a while I turn on the TV and watch her, if the topic is something I might be marginally interested in. Granted, that happens less often these days, but I’m not getting up on an anti-Oprah horse with a crop in hand, beating all the Oprah fans about the head and shoulders for having the audacity to still be fans. I understand her appeal. I appreciate the respect she’s earned. Heck, I’d have lunch with her. Well, her and enough other people that I wouldn’t have to carry on the conversation, because I truly suck at that.

But Oprah invaded my dream this afternoon, and it bothers me.

Today on Oprah…Thumper is seated at a table and told she will be presented with a choice between two things. Whatever she chooses has the capacity to make her life incredibly happy, incredibly stressful, or a combination of both.

After hearing this, Oprah puts two things on the table: a basket filled with cash, $250,000 tax free, and a basket with a large, squirming, kicking lump covered in a blue blanket. He is only 2 days old and has no name.

“Pick whichever you think will make your life more complete,” Oprah tells me.

Now, theoretically, this is a no brainer. I’ve had my kid. He’s been raised, he turned out fine, and while I’m looking forward to grandkids some day, I’m not looking to take up diaper duty and potty training again. I’m pushing 44 freaking years old. And I could really use the cash. Get out of debt, put a down payment on a house, set something aside for the future. It would make us very comfortable.


My brain sometimes works in circles, so I ask Oprah, “What happens to the baby if I don’t choose him?”

She shrugs and says that I don’t get to factor in that part of the equation. I don’t get to know.

“But if I know that in choosing the cash I’m condemning this kid to be snatched by a pack of wolves, even theoretically, that has to factor in. And what if I chose him, thinking I would be saving him, when outside the door is the perfect younger couple who would give their lives before they’d let anything bad happen to him, who want him so much they’re already in love with him and will be hurt forever if they don’t get him? And what if I would be the Big Bad in his life? What if I chose him and he wasn’t ever really happy, because even though I tried to give him the absolutely best life I could, he could feel some undercurrent of resentment? Could I take the money and use it to help someone who truly deserves the honor of raising him buy their way through the legal system to adopt him? All I really want is to do what’s right for him.”

“Just choose.”

“The money doesn’t even matter. I have to know what’s right for that kid.”

“Just choose.”

This freaking sucks, because life is nothing but a series of choices…and I was paralyzed. I had no idea what to do. When I woke up, my head was in my hands, and I felt utterly, completely lost, and more than a little bit sad.

And I was really pissed off at Oprah.
She owes me a nap.

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