<p>Two greatest achievements of modern science: vasectomy and Viagra. I have always wanted one. Never really wanted kids. My daughter — my Superstar — was the unwanted result of horny usefulness.</p>

<p>I can say this now because it's true. I felt very little connection to her at first. I was a dock worker when she was born. Ten to twelve hours on. Eight hours off. Day and night. An hour commute each way. Seven days a week. A walking zombie.</p>

<p>I remember walking into our two-bedroom apartment after a shift. My wife at the time asked me to feed my daughter before I passed out. I mindlessly wandered into the kitchen. Pulled fresh pumped breast milk from the fridge. Filled a bottle. Warmed it. Tested it. Handed it to my newborn child — who could do nothing for herself. I picked her up. Fed her. Burped her. Changed her. Then passed out on my own bed. Four hours later, I woke up to do it again.</p>

<p>The bond hit me like a freight train a few months later. The moment she could roll over on her own. Look up at me with those piercing blue eyes. Wave her arms in a silent gesture: Hold me, Dad. I was sunk from that moment on. My daughter. My world.</p>

<p>Shortly after she was born, her mother and I separated. An ugly divorce and custody battle lasted eight years. I never wanted to bring another child into this world. Never wanted another kid to go through what my daughter went through. So yes. Vasectomy and Viagra. One to make sure I never create another life I cannot protect. The other to make sure I still live mine.</p>