The Grand Bargain (or) A Cynical Bid To Force My Children's Hand (or) A Shot Across Their Bow

"But will I love both my children the same? Do I have enough to give?"
Nope.
No you do not.
No, you probably will not.
Sure, try to paper over the cracks, pronouncing an abundantly infinite wellspring of unceasing overproduction of total overflowing amor for your children. Both of them, all of them, each of them.
But that there is a canard duck rigamarole flimsy shim sham of some wool sunglasses you've bought there buddy.
I can say this: at least at the outset and unless you sort your priorities out quickly, having children is the most vicious possible attack you could sadistically perpetrate on yourself.
As a surfer.
In New York City.
Now, I'm not proclaiming this some sort of ultimate truth of the ages here.
I'm stopping just a hair's breath away from getting there. But only just.
What I am saying is you'd better get your shit worked out fast, instilling in your child such a burning, gnawing, overwhelming need to be near, in and around the ocean that they will harass, harangue, whine, bellyache and whimper at every possible moment, pleading with you to get them there at all costs.
Otherwise, get ready for a long surfing winter.
I know this from experience.
But I've renewed my vows and upped my ante and I'm hoping to evolve this situation in the right direction.
As for loving both kids the same amount... well, I suppose I don't really know about that... yet.
But if one gets me in the water more than the other, well he may just have a leg up.