DIXON: Yeah, all-night screaming, projectile vomiting, nuclear diapers. You have no idea. The reason they make them so damn cute is so you don't suffocate them in their sleep.

WELLS: Sir, you have four kids.

DIXON: Yeah, why do you think I enjoy my job so much? Don't get me wrong, I love the little buggers to death, but trust me, having four kids makes going through a Stargate and facing off against alien bad guys look like nothing. This is relaxing.

WELLS: Then why did you have four?

DIXON : Well One's pretty bad, but you figure you've got to have two so the little guy could have a brother or sister, right? Then you have two boys and the wife says she wants a girl, so you figure, "hell, three can't be much worse than two," right? What you don't realize is your brain is fried because you haven't slept. After three, four is no big deal. You're so deep in it, nothing seems to matter anymore. It's chaos. You just try to make it through each day alive. In the end You spend all the energy you have left trying to get them into bed, only to lie awake praying they don't get hooked on drugs, hurt, or worse, end up dead in an alley somewhere.

WELLS: Can't wait, Sir.

DIXON: Yeah, miracle of birth, my ass. I'll tell you what a miracle is. Birth control that works.