My Future Plague Rats

My Future Kids are going to have immune systems of steel. My Future Babies will eat dirt every day. If My Future Kids manage to contract asthma or allergies, I will consider it my failure as a parent. When My Future Kids complain about how they are both asthmatic and allergic to everything, I will beckon them into my office, and I will introduce them to this old-fashioned thing called "The Intertubes," much like our modern mind-link but external. Now, on The Intertubes, there were these things called "Blags," and yes, child, your parent had one. I will then access the old archived Intertube files and pull up this very post on the mind-link. Here, child, I will say, here is where I doomed you and your siblings to perpetual sickliness. As a child, you know all too well the power of the jinx, and it was I who jinxed you. My Future Kid(s) will then go on to read the remainder of this blag and thus I shall sow the seed of their festering hatred for me.
Anyway. My Future Kids are never getting sick. Ever. They will eat things off the ground until their immune systems are able to ward of illness just by giving it a mean glare. Between the outside, the tiny ecosystems living in their semi-edible paste, and my own stubborn disbelief that anything too bad can happen to them, their white blood cells will probably turn into tiny scary large black men acting as bouncers for their body.

Also, when My Future Kids inevitably end up hurting themselves, do you know what I will tell them? I will tell them to man up and rub some dirt in it. I'm not raising any pansy ass-children, no sir. If anything actually serious happens, I'm sure that I'll figure it out eventually. And besides, the scars and crooked noses will make for great stories about terrible their childhoods were.