Baby Brawl Blues
There are things about being a father that are entirely un-manly. One such instance being this little tidbit: My daughter beats me up.
I know, she’s only two and a half MONTHS, how is that possible? I’ll wait for you to stop laughing… Still going, huh? Well, I’m moving on without you then.
It’s been a treat watching Phoenix discovering the world and everything in it. She’s even started to gain control of all those pesky muscles and limbs that she was born with. Of course, she still has the bodily control of a six year old attempting to fly an Apache helicopter, but she’s working it out.
She even has a new game that she likes to play now. It’s called “head-butt Daddy in the face repeatedly.” The game is played pretty much the same as it sounds, with a small skull cracking into my cheekbone over and over and over and over and over again until I attempt to move her. Then, I lose because she starts crying. So, I put her back and the game starts all over again. This doesn’t end until SHE says it’s over. Or if I commit a personal foul and game is called for unsportsmanlike conduct. (Like if I turn my head to look at something and she crashes into a more solid section of my face, causing her a mild bit of pain… and thirty minutes of crying.)
But through it all, do you know what worries me most about this game? With my wife and I in reverse gender roles, I’m worried that someone is going to see my bruised face and assume that my loving wife is beating me. Because that feels less manly as well.
In fact, I’m pretty much screwed in the manliness department if someone asks why I’ve got a black eye. I don’t want them thinking that my wife hits me, I can’t tell them that my newborn daughter is beating me up, and because I have a “froofy” dog, I can’t use him as an excuse. I may have to take up MMA until the game is over, just so I have a reason for the black and blue splotches.