You should have lingered in the warmth of the gestation-bliss and bathed in embryonic-fluid for as long as possible, perhaps even to now for some, because when push came to "One more please", "Just one more should do it", you weren't to remember the passage from the assurance of the womb to the horrors that have awaited you down through the years.
The accounts from survivors of the consternation that is childbirth will attest to the pain. A pain they maintain is almost beyond description. Yet they attempt with mere words to convey the epitome of the "HOW NEAR TO DEATH WAS I" legend (this is the birth-ers not the birth-ees, please remember that).
Did the pain exist like the blinding light that could only of been HER, and charge all space and time to be the real, as you glissaded on by to the air-conditioned climate of a hospital ward, to the unfaltering hands of the skilled surgeon or mid-wife whose coaxing had got you propelled this far, propelled to and through the greatest of the unknown. YOU WOULD HAVE HOPED!!!!! (Had you indeed of known hope whilst still an infant, hope that only dawned as you beheld a world replete with life stealing on passed to appertain to others without explanation for you).
Could you of envisioned the deprivation of weaning, the humiliation of shitting yourself, the inadequacy of your own parents as doctor and nurse, the torment of schooling, of attempting to acclimatise to a foreign environment, of being abused as "The Little Bastard" simply because you survived the most protracted slide of your life?
The cogitation of age 14, at the dawning of puberty, that returning to the interior of your mother for the duration just might have been preferable to fronting life as you knew it.
That at the age of the original immaculate sexcapade, failure or no, that you may, if fortune persisted and company didn't impede your efforts, secure another chance to be the man you'd always heard about or seen paraded as role-model extraordinaire, complete with a harem from then and now, a harem that comes as testament to capability, sociability, adaptability, technical capacity and all round GREAT-BLOKE-NESS.
Would a life-time of occupying the maternal-incubator have been more easeful on the whole?
Would it have saved the cringes as the reality dawned; "That we are all"
As education persisted through secondary to tertiary or further, or the years saw the insistence of forays into the adult world recognised as genuine employment, who could possibly foresee the bitterness and misunderstanding invoked through rejection, the incomprehensibility of "how could some-one be better than I"?, rear it's ugly head not once, but twice, thrice, four times and more, ad infinitum ad nauseum, to see what ever faculties you possessed remain wasted, stagnant in a swamp of non-concern, stalled in an environment of "WHAT IS IS WHAT IS"!! because it is.
Could this of been eschewed simply at the inconvenience of a mother?
Could you have permitted the passage of siblings conceived subsequent to you into the external world, permitted them to make their own course bravely, ignoring the advice of your seniority as they went?
Would there have been room in the womb-with-a-view for two?
As you maturated to adult proportions would evolution of altered the state of your mother to accommodate your being?
Would she of been capable of fulfilling the other roles she was destined to play?
This is conjecture since the umbilical has long been dissevered, and though parenting is inherent, and we shouldn't leave father completely at the mercy of those who would scream "TYPICAL" to his role as passive non-toter, you as individuals, and I as opinionate, ought to be aware that maybe remaining comfortable and effusively warm somewhere we comprehend is certain to be a better option than endeavouring to produce more than a destiny from the fate we are dealt regardless to others, missed opportunities because of , or dearth of achievement due to.

It is an impossible situation, a parallel to Stephen Hawkins theory of time travel.

Who knows? Maybe on day.