If I'd gotten the fish first, I doubt I would have trusted myself to have kids. However, I'm finding that I parent with a slightly higher level of competence than I pet-own. Here I document my experiences:
I have killed multiple fish.
My children are both still living.
Usually I flush the bodies, but once I sent a fishy down the garberator. CRUNCH!
I have threatened to flush my children but never had the guts to do it. They aren't even allowed to operate the garberator.
The other day, Dan asked me if I'd fed the fish yet and I replied, "Oh crap! I can't remember the last time I fed him."
When my children want food, they hang from the fridge like arched-back macaroni and scream "CHEEEEEEEE!"*
We forgot to make plans for the fish last time we went on vacation. A couple of days later, I called a friend and asked her to go pick him up if he was still alive and feed him every day or so if she remembered.
My kids and their ten tons of junk accompany us on every vacation. I use the word "vacation" loosely. A trip to the gas station can be a vacation if you're a good enough mom. It can require ten tons of junk to be hauled if you're a good enough kid.
The fish swims around in his own sewage for weeks at a time and seems to like it.
My kids cry when I change their diapers and attempt to kick me in the face.
When our fish Jack died from unknown natural causes, we just got a new one and named it JackAgain.
We agonized for weeks over what to name our kids and ended up picking with our eyes squinched tightly closed and our fingers crossed. I don't think I would ever consider naming one of my kids LayleeAgain or MagooAgain if one of them were done with their name.
When you hold a mirror up to JackAgain's tank, he puffs out his cheeks and attacks the glass.
My kids do pretty much the same thing but they leave bigger smudge marks on the glass.
*cheese, preferably string