Fatherhood Diary

At 7:30, we put Cecelia to bed. She’s cute…with her little 11-month old, worm-like body crawling towards the stairs, beyond excited for the bottle she’s going to fall asleep with in the crib. We place her on her back, give her the bottle and watch as her eyes close as she fades to sleep.

By the time we get downstairs, Layla is either banging on my flat-screen TV, or lighting matches.

“It’s time for night-night, Layla”

“Soon. Night-night soon,” she replies

“Night-night now.”

“Okie,” she agrees.

I carry her up to her crib. I crouch down and bend over in front of the crib, like the slave that I am. She walks on my back, lifts one leg over the rails, then the other.

“BOOKS!”

We throw a few books in the crib.

“HUGS AND KISSES!”

We lower the rails and kiss her goodnight.

“NO BOOKS!”

We remove the books from the crib.

“HUGS AND KISSES!”

Goodnight, Layla.

When we close the door, it starts. The inhale for her scream begins when the door closes. She holds it for so long, building up negative energy, that it doesn’t actually make a sound until we hit the bottom of the stairs. It sounds like she’s being burned alive.

In one room lies a sleeping baby, dreaming of stars and breast milk. In the other, lives shrieks of terror that all but peel the paint off of the walls.

What a tranquil way to unwind for the evening.

Since I haven’t had much motivation to write, I thought I’d post this short video to prove that we’re still alive and well. Cece does this weird smile where she squishes her face together and flashes the only teeth she has.

Layla likes to walk all over me, literally. It’s a game. She tugs at my arm and begins barking commands at me.

“Die Lown, daddy.”

“Ok, I’ll lie down.”

The game is this: I lay down on my back, while Layla balances herself and walks from my feet, to my legs, to my stomach, all the way until she reaches my head…uses my head as a springboard,  jumps off and we start all over again. It’s a game of balance, and finesse. From what I’ve gathered, the object of the game is to inflict as much physical pain on me as possible, while retaining her balance and successfully crushing every bone from toe to head.

Coloring a picture is too boring for Jigsaw.

About a month ago, we were in the middle of this great game when she was standing on my legs. She wasn’t ready to move yet, she just wobbled back and forth to feel my thigh muscles tearing under her feet. Her next step was a double axle, and she landed directly on my crotch.

“Ahhh, watch daddy’s bal….boys!”

By the time I corrected myself and got the word “boys” out, she was about to walk on my throat.

She stopped and realized she had hit the grand slam of whatever this sick game is called.

“dadddddy’s boys….”

She stepped backward and walked on my collar bone. I smartened up. “Ah, not daddy’s boys again.” She let out a sinister laugh and stepped on my clavicle once more for good measure before gracefully diving to the floor.

“Gonna get MOMMY’s BOYS,” she exclaimed while running into the kitchen.

Going to Target is always an experience. Two-year-olds have a limited time that they’re willing to stay in a shopping cart, which means that I’m following along while she throws what she feels are necessities into the cart, such as peanut butter, Highschool Musical 3, and a sugar straw.

Tonight, while we were checking out, my wife was placing the items on the belt while I kept Layla busy. Layla ran from the food counter, to the Starbucks counter, and back. There weren’t many people in the store so I didn’t see the problem in letting her burn off some sugar before bed. Plus, picking her up to try to hold her would have led to a meltdown, plus a kick to my groin because right now she’s conveniently tall enough that the heels of her feet are at exactly the right (or wrong) level.

She was trucking along, arms pumping like an olympic runner, when a young, female Target employee was walking in her path. I froze and thought, “She’ll move, she’ll see her, one of them will move…” Neither one changed their path. Neither one saw the other. Layla collided, full-speed into the employee’s knees. Layla was knocked from her feet to her butt, and then fell back onto her head. It was something out of NFL Films, a Ronnie Lott punishing a receiver over the middle. Both girls fell. Layla cried while the employee felt guilty. I felt like a failure of a parent for not preventing it.

Layla wailed for another 5 minutes and finally calmed down at the sight of Swedish Fish. If you ask her to tell the tale in her own words she’ll tell you, “Target, bumpa da head!” while knocking on her skull.

Layla is into pop/hip-hop music. Her favorite songs are ‘Boom Boom Pow,’  by the Black Eyed Peas, ‘Womanizer,’ by Britney Spears, and ‘Bad Romance,’ by Lady Gaga. This morning, I was cruising through town, driving the kids to the babysitter’s, and Layla was making me bob my head and dance to Lady Gaga while driving. Since nobody else can see the kids in the backseat, I probably just looked like a big goof who likes bad music.

On a positive note, Rachelle likes those songs too, so I like to make fun of the fact that her music taste is that of a two-year old.

Sometimes I let Layla sit in my chair at the kitchen table in front of the laptop and look at herself with the webcam. There’s a one-second delay, so she enjoys mimicking herself and hearing the sounds she had just made.

Tonight she was doing just that, when I had to use the computer. To her dismay, I moved her onto the floor nicely and said I’ll be done in a few minutes. She threw a fit. I offered to sit her on my lap until I was done. “No!” she exclaimed as she threw herself onto the floor and began flailing her limbs.

Suddenly, she calmed down for a second:

“Daddy, chocolate milk, please.”

I ALMOST fell for it. I almost got out of my chair to make her chocolate milk so that she can quickly climb into the vacant seat, but I caught myself. I literally made a strange sound when I realized that I had almost been duped by a two year old, “Aye, wait…” But before I could be sure, I needed to test my theory. She couldn’t be this much of an evil mastermind already, could she?

As she sat there quietly, surely thinking “this jackass is about to get up for chocolate milk that I don’t even want,” I called to Rachelle:

“Hey Rachelle, can you make Layla some chocolate milk?”

Sure enough…

“NOOOOOO, daddy! Layla sit down….” once again, drowning in tears.

I’m hanging out in a weird place between proud, and appalled.

I had off of work today and, since it was 73 degrees, I took them to the park. When we arrived, I noticed it was me, 45 children, and 36 soccer moms. Apparently there was some “mommy’s group” convention that met at the park today. I was eyed up as the outsider…a man. Here’s a quick video of Layla playing:

I don’t get it when parent say, “Raising children can be challenging.” A game of Minesweeper is challenging. It would be more accurate to say that parenting can be wear-and-tear on the soul.

Rachelle had kickboxing tonight. If you remember, the last time Rachelle went to kickboxing class Layla handed me a log of dog poop. Although there was no passing of animal feces tonight, it was “challenging” to all of you under-staters out there.

It started out nice. I pulled my car into the driveway and could hear a gnomish voice inside the house, “Daddy!” I grabbed my bag and coffee cup like a father from the 40’s and rushed in to greet my family. Layla wanted to play outside so I put her shoes on and we played with a ball on the lawn.

After 10 minutes, I was sitting with Cecelia on the step while Layla kicked the ball around. Suddenly, she started wandering to the street, then running like a fugitive. I called her name but she ignored me. I had to sprint across the lawn, carrying Cecelia like a football, and caught Layla just as she put her foot in the street.

“NEVER, ever go in the street,” I stated firmly when I got into the house.

“Okaaaay,” she said.

The remainder of the night was just a collection of horrible moments, which included her feeding the dog about a half-pound of shrimp from her plate.

“Layla, if they start yacking all over the place, I swear to god…”

“Okaaay”

The only time she laughed or became pleasant is when she head-butted me in the side of the skull like an MMA fighter. Apparently that was hysterical.

But then tomorrow, upon waking, she’ll call my name, look at me with those tired/puppy eyes, give me a big hug, and it’ll be like tonight never happened.

Parenting is not just “challenging”. Parenting is like being a victim in an abusive spousal relationship. One minute you’re getting kicked and head-butted in the face, the next minute they do something to make you love them more than you thought you ever could. I’m sure she does these things because she loves me too. She really doesn’t mean it. Oh, this bruise? I, uh, fell down the stairs.

On Friday, Rachelle and I noticed that part of Cece’s bottom gums had turned white. Normally this means a tooth is on the way, but when Layla first showed the white bump it took another five months for the tooth to pop through. Well, today my mom sent me a text message stating that the tooth popped through today.

If you listen closely, you can hear the fearful screams of my wife’s nipples.

Just a cute video of Layla singing in the park. These are probably getting annoying but hey, get your own website if you don’t like it.