THE MAIN REASON WHY I SOMETIMES SUSPECT THAT I'M NOT THE PEANUT'S REAL FATHER
The drama! Good Lord, THE DRAMA!
As most of you know, I'm a pretty mellow guy who believes that there are very few things in life worth freaking out about. Therefore, I'm willing to give my daughter the benefit of the doubt because she is, after all, only two years old. However, lately, she's been acting very diva-ish, a development that I like to blame on Tyra Banks. (I'm kidding, of course. The kid much prefers watching Jerry Springer.)
But really, in all seriousness, we're at a point where everything with my daughter has to be done in a very particular way and it's rapidly becoming apparent that I have no freaking idea what that way is. Today, she threw a total hissy fit and broke down in tears because I had the gall to put green socks on her feet instead of brown. Bad daddy, bad!
FIVE WAYS IN WHICH MY DAUGHTER IS DEFINITELY RELATED TO ME
1. My stomach and I have a rather tenuous relationship. Maybe it's
from all the scotch and spicy food but my doctor thinks I'm probably
suffering from IBD or colitis (OK, not a REAL doctor. I don't go to those. When I say "doctor," I really mean WebMD.)
As part of my self-diagnosis, I sometimes take fiber pills throughout
the day, a ritual that often leads to periods of flatulence.
Basically, I can get downright farty at times. My daughter, I would
venture to guess, probably farts more than any two-year-old on the
entire planet. Seriously, she blows gas like a bean-eating 75-year-old
lactose-intolerant truck driver. It's completely awesome and I plan on
recording it sometime in the future so I can play it back for her dates
when they come by to pick her up.
2. My beautiful wife good-naturedly chides me for my gift of gab but it's true. For a cynically jaded New Yorker, I'm genuinely interested in other peoples' lives and will often talk to complete strangers for hours. It seems as though my young daughter is becoming quite the conversationalist herself. Unfortunately, she hasn't figured it all out yet. Last week, I caught her having some jovially long-winded discussions with (a) some flowers, (b) the dog, and (c) a sandwich. Let me tell you something, my friends. There are very few things cuter in this world than hearing your daughter cheerfully say, "Hi, sandwich! Sit down! I eat!"
3. One of the reasons I quit smoking pot was because I found myself
developing some strange form of OCD. After each hit, I would
immediately have to go clean my hands and wash my face. I'm noticing a
similar pattern emerge with the Peanut. When she first started feeding
herself, she'd usually finish dinner with her face and body completely
covered in food. Now, she insists on having both her hands and mouth
wiped clean after EACH AND EVERY BITE! If even a single morsel of food
gets on her delicate fingers, she immediately looks at me, holds out
her hand, and says, "WIPE!" It's official. I am now my daughter's
personal valet.
4. Despite my innate and well-documented love of television, I was
one of those annoying parents who never let his child watch a second of
television until she was 18 months old. You know, the whole "studies
have shown..." blah, blah, blah. However, what those studies failed to
show was the fact that a freakish love of television is apparently
embedded in one's DNA. For my daughter, TV was like love at first
sight. Every night after dinner, she turns to the BossLady and says, "TV now, mama? TV
ok?" Which is funny because that's exactly what I say to the BossLady after dinner.
5. Speaking of dinner...my daughter and I both eat food like we're in prison. We crouch over our meals and inhale them as quickly as possible in case some big guy named Ben Dover comes over and shivs us for our applesauce. We sometimes even use our utensils to guard our plates. No way we're giving up our chow to any of our fellow inmates unless we get some cigarettes or prison wine in return!
By the way, did you know that Martha Stewart's prison
name was "M. Diddy?" It's true. I read it in Vanity Fair upon her
release from the big house. My favorite quote from the article was
when she was talking about jail: ""I hate lockdown. It's just hideous." Unfortunately, they didn't have any quotes from M.Diddy about what it was like to be thrown in the hole and peed on. Too bad.
By the way, I just googled the term "prison nicknames" and I found this awesome Prison Bitch Name Generator. Mine's B.F. Goodlick. What's yours?
My thirty-month old son and your two-year old daughter sound made for each other, in the way that spoiled children of the European peerage are made for each other. It would require a large personal staff to make it work. Has she got an eharmony profile yet?
In my son's defense, I will say he has taken to telling me "Dank you" when I wipe his ass. That takes a certain amount of class, don't you agree?
Thanks for the G.A. confession. My burden is perceptibly lighter.
Posted by: Kyran | November 10, 2006 at 10:56 AM
When I read this, I thought to myself "How funny, she talks to sandwiches" and then a couple of hourse later caught my own daughter saying, "Hello leaves, I'm going to jump on you now."
Posted by: NG | November 10, 2006 at 11:13 AM
Mine's "Ankle Grabber."
*snicker*
Posted by: Queen of Ass | November 10, 2006 at 01:15 PM
Our son just entered that phase where he is repulsed if any food, dirt or grease gets on his hands. You think I should get him a pair of those dainty white gloves that you see rich people eat with in the movies?
Yours truly,
Fruit Loop
Posted by: Jeremy | November 10, 2006 at 02:48 PM
It looks like I'm the only Fuck Stick around!
Posted by: Velma | November 10, 2006 at 03:23 PM
I might be your daughter too, then.
Whoops.
Posted by: samantha Jo Campen | November 10, 2006 at 03:24 PM
I think my mom is your bio mom and that your daughter is her bio granddaughter.
Just sign me - butt muncher.
Posted by: Lisa B | November 10, 2006 at 04:30 PM
My prison name is Bruce. What the heck does that mean?
Posted by: Jillian | November 10, 2006 at 07:54 PM
Jillian, my prison name is Bruce, too. When I put my maiden name in, though, it's Fist Fucker. I think that's the most profoundly grotesque one I've seen so far.
Figures.
Oh, and MD - as for the Peanut's talkative talkiness, let's remember if we ever introduce her to Bryce, to bring ear plugs. And lots of alcohol. Because oh my god. I don't think they'll ever shut up.
Posted by: Kristen | November 10, 2006 at 09:07 PM
Fruit Loop here. That can't be a good thing.
Posted by: Mitch McDad | November 10, 2006 at 09:54 PM
You make me laugh!
Signed,
Queer Johnny
Posted by: metro mama | November 10, 2006 at 10:29 PM
I think our daughters may have been separated at birth. We're going through the same exact phase right now (esp. the farting!)
Sincerely,
The One-Eyed Ogre
Posted by: Jimmy | November 10, 2006 at 10:51 PM
My PB name: Hung Like a Horse
Yeah, baby!
Does that make you horny baby?
Posted by: Mike | November 11, 2006 at 01:02 AM
"Ass Master"
But(t) I could have told you that!
Bu-du-bum...
Posted by: GIRL'S GONE CHILD | November 11, 2006 at 01:46 AM
OMG...my prison name is Count Suckula. That's hilarious!
Posted by: JK | November 11, 2006 at 11:35 AM
Okay, I just put in my married name, and got "Ben Dover."
Will the next name generated be, "Phil McCrevass?"
You know, the gay Scottish twins...?
Posted by: L. | November 11, 2006 at 03:09 PM
I was never a pot person but regarding M Diddy...I DID NOT KNOW THAT! Now I want to crash her show in the studio and yell out from the audince and say " HEY M DIDDY! Make me a pie!!"
Posted by: mrsmogul | November 12, 2006 at 12:20 PM
Yes, I made the Potato cry the other day by opening the wrong door to his daycare. It's good to know I'll have company in the Crappy Parents Nursing Home.
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Posted by: Jack | November 17, 2012 at 04:53 AM
I think you are doing more then your fair share to be a great husband and faehtr. If even half the guys in the world would follow your example this would bring happiness to a lot of unhappy women out there.I suggest at this point you need to confront your wife. Say that this situation cannot go on any longer. You have your green card, you are a citizen, I assume. So now, You can tell your wife that either you go to marriage counseling and try to fix this or you are filling for divorce. Your daughter will survive, it's not the end of the world. If children survived the holocaust in Germany and grew up to be accomplished Doctors, lawyers and business people, not to mention that more then half of marriages end up in divorce. So what? You are still her faehtr and always will be so. You cannot live in an unhappy marriage, because it will end badly anyway. If your wife is unwilling to fix this, You have to think of your and your daughter's future happiness. It's going to be difficult, but better to do in now then live a lifetime of misery. Be brave, and good luck.
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