My daughter is only eight weeks old. Which means she does what babies do. Sleep a couple of hours, wake up and cry.
Last night, she was going through the crying portion of her normal routine so I, like a good father would, changed her diaper, fed her, burped her; the whole nine. Nothing worked for long except walking with her. My son Marshal woke up around 3 a.m. and came outside so we took turns rocking her and watching the new Animal Pak videos on YouTube.
Eventually she fell asleep and our conversation had turned to wrestling. He’s going into his junior year and wants to do well. So, again like a good father would, I was responsive to his needs at the time. We were talking strategy during a match which led to demonstrating moves which led to
noise. Possibly some crashing around in the living room. By the fireplace. And the couch. And the television.
Next thing I know, my wife sprints into the room. (She’s pretty fast by the way, which means she’s ready to crank up the intensity of her training for triathlons again).
Now do you think that the resident Puerto Rican was grateful that we were watching the baby so she could sleep? No! She said some unkind things, grabbed the baby and gave me that look. Almost like she didn’t believe me. I mean, I’m probably more than a good father. I’m upgrading my status to excellent, because I switched from taking care of a newborn to quality time with my 17 year old without missing a beat! But she just took the baby downstairs without so much as a thank you!
There’s just no pleasing some people I guess. I don’t care, I know I’m a good daddy. And that’s all that matters!
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