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This is my daughter
She is not my genetics
She is not my blood
She is not my legacy
And she is not my mistake
She was as well thought out
And finely crafted as any work of art
You’d be lucky to glimpse
At the Louvre
She is a metaphor
An allusion
A simile
And an allegory
I use these words because
To attempt to administer
Their mechanics upon her
Would surely be to fall short
I give her the best and the last of mine
Not because she is worthy of that
But because I am not worthy to withhold it from her
She is my worshipper and my god
My student and my teacher
I strive to be a better man
So that she knows what a good man is
My example is her scout
My lessons are her infantry
My advice her cavalry
And my fists are her royal guard
Though this far her enemies will not get
For I have crafted her with resilience and guile
Enough for a dozen of her
I have made sure she is
Powerful
And Delicate
Beautiful
And ass-kickin
She won’t kick ass and take names
She’ll kick ass and forget names
Cause forget those people
She’s better than them
And on the other hand
With her other hands
She will embrace
The faces of grace
Of men and women and children and elders
She’ll lift the weak from the fires in which they smolder
And place their feet upon her shoulders
And with words so sweet inhale their boulders
My duty, as a father
Is not simply to assure she gets farther
But that she betters our mother
Through the lessons in which I’ve taught her
Mine eyes and thoughts upon her
Are as necessary as water
And if once you had pause to ponder
Know that this is my daughter
And you better have her home by ten
(I love you, Little Miss!!)
Well, we’ve recently begun potty training and it’s going swimmingly.
She spends most of her time running around naked and sitting on her potty, but she hasn’t pissed anywhere but there and, occasionally, her pull-ups for over a week now.
At first she was having trouble with it getting all over the floor, but she’s figured that out.
The only thing we’re having difficulty with currently is, for some… I can’t even think of the proper term… She plays in her piss.
What the hell is that?
She’ll step in it and put her toys in the pot… no other kid does this, but there she is…
She’ll grow out of it someday, but it’s still mind-boggling.
There’s got to be some sort of mental process that factors this into her behavior since she’s always had a problem with taking off her diaper at night and painting her bedroom walls with shit. And, despite having no friends who have had this problem with their children, it’s apparently common enough to be marked with a cutesy little title for the toddler in question.
“S/He’s our little poocasso…”
I guess it can’t be that rare.
Either way… whenever she learns what embarassment is, I’m sure she’ll stop. Until then… Lysol is my friend.
Well, I think I’ve pretty much exhausted my options to the point that I am now fully exhausted of options.
I asked about it on answers.com and I even asked someone on Facebook that a friend had pointed me towards and I haven’t received an answer anywhere. I’m thinking that maybe it’s more dumb luck than nobody knowing, but who knows?
So, now I’m fated to find out what it’s like to raise a daughter as a single father in South Korea without any sort of foresight.
That’s life. That’s what all the people say.
Should be interesting to say the least and maybe this will help some poor bastard in a similar position someday. Either that, or help some bored folks through their cloudy Sunday afternoons by exposing them to my buffoonery. That’s right… I said buffoonery. Deal with it.
Going Fartherhood 