I'm not certain if I've mentioned this before, but my youngest daughter, at the tender age of one, is one of the toughest people I've ever met in my life.
The other day, I was sitting in my kitchen eating a bag of beef jerky. I don't like beef jerky, but it was in my house and it has beef in the name so... something had to be done. After a few bites, it occurred to me that this particular beef jerky must have been made from the Clint Eastwood of cows. It was tough, gnarly leather meat and covered in more spices than David Beckham*. Whilte I chewed and held back the tears, I noticed the young lass giving me a look.
Daughter: (translated from the ancient 1-year-old) "I'm going to need you to hand that over to me, dad."
Me: "What? Are you kidding? This stuff will put a hole in your cheek. After three bites, your mouth will already be burned down to your adult teeth."
Daughter: "Amusing. Now feed me."
Me: "That would be completely irresponsible of me. I can't imagine why I'm sitting here and apparently tearing off a piece of this poisonous beef jerky. Why am I doing this? Who gives a chunk of hot, spicy coal to a toddler? How is this happening?"
This is going to be one of those things you always hear from parents that makes you wish you didn't have friends who are parents because you hate hearing these kinds of crappy 'things you learn after you have kids' stories. You just do. But, here it is anyway.
When you have one kid, you watch it like a hawk and keep it inside a bubble to protect it from every sort of evil the world can manage to throw at it. If you manage to relax long enough to have a second kid, all you do is try and make sure it doesn't catch fire and occasionally spray it with Wolf-Away. You'd have seen me lending my car to Dennis Rodman before you saw me giving my first daughter hell food. The second one? Eh... maybe it'll be funny.
So, after she downed the spicy jerky, she looked at me with a nod of approval. No teary eyes. No pantomimed requests for very, very cold milk. Just a glazed over look of satisfaction and a head nod that suggested her next request was going to involve my beer. How could she like this stuff? Was she born the day Charles Bronson died? I'm going to have to do some research here.
If you ever see a one year old girl driving down the street in a jacked up Ford F-350 with a fu manchu moustache and Black Flag album playing on the stereo, chances are she's mine. Tell her to be home by 11 and to try and avoid hurting anyone.
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* He's married to a Spice Girl. Man, I hate explaining these things.
5 comments:
That theory makes no sense whatsoever (the second child) but it is absolutely dead on 100% accurate. Thanks Maine. Whenever I feel like an asshole for something, all I have to do is read your blog.
I think because I was an active babysitter for several years before I had my first child I had a different experience with her than others do with their first born.
There was nothing delicate about my parenting either of my kids.
I'm just happy you weren't eating fire or something...save that until she's 2.
When Ethan was 2, he grabbed the bottle of Tabasco from the table and immediately put it to his mouth before I could grab it from him. He poured enough on his tongue to make me cry. He LOVED it! He wanted to drink the whole bottle. I didn't let him, of course. But I was shocked.
He laughs every time I tell him that story.
Rock on with your bad self! I always treat Ethan like a tester. I'm a jerk.
I was just today hit on the head by an empty can of Wolf-away as a truck of that description tore by. Don't worry about her safety though, as a fleet of policemen were following closely after her.
This post is hilarious. It also reminds me of my cousin, who wouldn't let his parents babysit his firstborn until he was assured they were safe enough (he even had a list they had to check off on). Now with his second-born 2 years later he calls them to please come pick them up!
P.S. Double check that beef jerky wrapper. It may just be a vaccuum-wrapped boot. It seems to be a popular brand.
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