I don’t know how many of you plan to bring children into this world. I also don’t know whether you plan to jump-start this process in the next year, or in the much more distant future. But regardless of your personal procreation strategy, I beg of you: do not conceive in March. In fact, just to be safe, avoid April, too. Because if you choose to get pregnant during those months, you’re getting a December baby, and there’s a good chance your kid will never forgive you for it.
Everyone knows Christmas kids are doomed from day one, but as any radio DJ or CVS manager could tell you, the holidays are in full swing the second Thanksgiving ends. So really, anyone celebrating a birthday in the last month of the year is in for a bad time. They can plan and accommodate and adjust all they like -- there's no way they're beating back the festivities for even one night. I know: I was born just four days shy of 12/25. And since I've already spent a good deal of my life griping about it, I thought it was time I offered a definitive, self-pitying essay for all my brothers and sisters with the world's worst due dates. I wish I could say it gets better, but we all know that's not true.