This year my wife, Jean, and I are going to undertake some projects. We’re going to refinance the apartment. We may renovate the kitchen. We’ll put Sasha in daycare. And I’m going to put together our last will and testament.

Perhaps it’s obvious, but this is not one of the more enjoyable parts of being a parent. It ranks below blowouts, below kindergarten admissions, below catching your LO mid-avisodomy. And it’s bad enough just imagining your own death—to put the will together, you have to imagine all the many alternatives: What if you die? What if your spouse dies? What if both of you die? What happens next?

Sasha’s now 13 months old, and I feel like we’re already, like, 12 months late on this task. Part of this is—sorry, Jean—Jean’s fault. Every time I’ve brought it up, she’s refused to talk about things practically. “You’re making me sad,” she says.

Yes, well. Still, we’ve got to get it done, which is why my current plan is to make up a list of bullet points, have her sign off on them, and take it to a lawyer. Easy enough, right?

I guess the real problem is actually figuring out what to do. The online how-tos aren’t particularly helpful. I mean, even I know that I need to say I’m of sound mind and body, or that we need to a lawyer, or that Joe Jackson shouldn’t become Sasha’s guardian.

Which is really the difficult part. Jean and I are an international marriage: Her parents live in Taiwan; mine live in Connecticut. Whether one or both of us dies, we want poor Sasha to maintain some kind of ties with both sides. If Sasha winds up living in Taipei, we want her to have significant time with my family, and if Sasha grows up in Willington—or Minneapolis or Seattle—she also needs to spend time in Asia.

But is this the kind of thing we can just, you know, stipulate in the will? What does international law say about such situations? Do we need to get the okay from the people we’d like as Sasha’s guardians? And who are the guardians supposed to be, anyway?

And this is where I find myself falling into the same timid camp as Jean. I mean, I can spend all morning imagining how things might work out, but actually speaking to my family about my demise? It’s hard enough just bringing it up with Jean. Much easier to assume nothing bad will ever happen, hope our friends and family are clairvoyant, and keep from making ourselves sad, sad, sad.