A Night In The Life…

I am going to share something with you all that could change your image of me as a superdad.  Iam going to let you in to catch a glimpse of my Clark Kent side.  That’s right, I am pulling back the cape, removing the giant “SD” from my spandex toddler fighting uniform ( yes, it’s spandex…my new UnderArmour suit is on backorder).  

My real work day begins as I pull into  the daycare to pick up my offspring (after donning my SD suit!).  I am greeted with shrieks of “Daddy!” and a huge hug.  Sounds awesome, doesn’t?  Well, it is great!  Unfortunately that’s as good as it gets for this superdad…see, the very toddlers that I adore so much are also my Kryptonite…

I swoop in and snatch my daughter up like a true hero..and then she and I spend the next 20 minutes collecting baby brother’s empty bottles, soiled baby clothes, and our his daily Crap Log.  The daily Crap Log tells you each and every time down to the minute that your baby took a dump during the day.  This is valuble information once you learn how to use it…let me know if and when you figure it out so that I will know what it’s for…I feel like the people on LOST blindly plugging away at those buttons on the computer hoping that someday they will find out why…until then I just keep logging the crap…perhaps my secret laboratory will be able to create an anti-toddler serum from this data.

The car ride home  is short in distance, and can be very entertaining.  It can also be like driving an ice pick through your brain at times…Typically the drive conversation is dominated by my daughter.  It goes something like this-

Her:  Daddy? Daddy? Daaadeee?

Me: Yes?

Her: I want a snack at home…I want a snack at home…I wan-

Me: Okay, you can have a snack when we get home

Her: I want chocolate milk…Daddy, I want chocolate milk…Daddy, I want chocolate mi-

Me: Okay, you can have some chocolate milk when we get home

Her: Daddy, can I watch Dora?  Can I watch a movie? I want to watch Dora, Daddy, can I watch (breath) Dora, Dadd-

Me: Okay, you can watch Dora when we get home…Let’s listen to the radio (loudly) now 

This goes on for a solid 15 minutes.  Mind you, this does not stop once we arrive at the house.  It continues until she has chocolate milk and snack in hand and is seated in front of the TV.  How can that child watch the same episode of Dora The Explorer 50 times with same enthusiasm and interest as if it were her first time seeing it???  I am not bitching.  This is quiet time, the time when I mend my super suit from the previous battle and prepare myself for the many that lie ahead…

In the interest of time,  the dinner portion of our evening may be seen my inagural post…

It is after the toddler eats that she is most powerful.  The post dinner ritual literally begins with me getting my ass kicked .  To her, I am a human jungle gym…trampoline, tackling dummy, horsey, and most recently olympic downhill freestyle ski run…Once I have been beaten down and lie on the floor out of breath,  my wife rescues me by sounding the “bath time” announcement.  

The wife and I alternate bath night because the toddlers powers too strong for one to endure back-to-back nights…If it’s my night, I scrape myself up from floor and take the long walk to the bathroom.  “Dead Man Walking!”  Like sharks in bloody water, my daughter can sense that she has weakened my defences and she is all over me in no time…

Getting weak…kryptonite too strong…super powers, don’t fail me now…something about the toddler’s strength mixed with princess bubble bath make her powers almost too much for this superdad…just…reach…into the water…and…pull the…plug…ahhh sweet release…bathtime is ending…I am gaining strength as the tub drains. The towel somehow stuns the toddler for long enough to get her subdued and into her special pajamas…now for the final battle, bedtime.

Bedtime is supposed to be relaxing.  We read stories to the now imprisioned toddler while she is still stunned from the lead-coated PJ’s.  Just when you think that you have defeated her; stories read, Taylor Swift swooning in the background, hugs and kisses gently applied and you are tip-toeing toward the sweet serenity of time alone with your wife, you hear, “Daddy”.  You stop just out of the sight line of the imprisoned toddler and you don’t move a muscle…her powers are strengthening…she senses your presence and calls out again…This sets off a 30 minute string of trips to and from her room to bring water, apply band aids to phantom wounds, pick up fallen members of the 15-stuffed animal sleep brigade, and hiding any books that contain “witches” from her site. 

After a few idol threats to kidnap valued members of the sleep brigade the toddler falls victim to sleep.  This leaves you just enough time with the wife to catch up on the day and then it’s off to bed to rest for the next day’s looming battles.  We are fast asleep when my super powered senses are aroused…I suddlenly sit straight up in my bed .  I check the clock and see that it is 3:00 AM.  “Pat, pat pat”…what is that noise… “pat, pat pat”… that I hear?  OH NO!  It can’t be!  She’s baaaack!

About Generic Dad

Ex break dancing champion turned competitive eating loser. I am into prosthetic limbs, knife throwing, and I am a self-taught magician...I once fought Kimbo Slice to a draw, my belly button is known to seep gravy, which has come in handy on more than one occasion.

Posted on January 26, 2010, in Thoughts on Life and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. Just imagine no one to trade off for bath time and bed time. Every single night, as the dinner rountine winds to an end, I am tired before IT even begins. Avie doesn’t want to bathe anymore. You see, water is her kryptonite, except that it works in an contradictory fashion. It fuels her disobedience to the point of jumping off couches, climbing onto the kitchen counter, & fits worthy of epileptic pharmaceuticals. She pulls dental floss through the house, drags all the snacks out of the pantry onto the floor, hits the dogs & kicks me. Once the teeth are brushed, the second battle begins…the bed time. We read, with delightful calls for Fincy Nincy and Dinosaurs…and the I Love You book. I read…and re-read. As I turn out her light, she demands over and over, “sit down, sit down, sit down.” I give in and sit on the floor and rub her back for a few minutes. I then tell her good night and leave the room. For the next HOUR she gets out of her bed and comes into the living room. I have the monitor set up in the living room, so that I can see her as she exits her bed. I holler for her to get back into bed now! She strolls in carrying her pillow, or her Twilight Turtle, or her blanket. Each time I put her back to bed, she demands me to sit down, sit down, sit down. I do not. She screams, cries, & flops about. It is exhausting and I am expected to do homework and study for 12 hours of school after this????

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