Tuesday, May 24, 2011

A Letter to My Daughter

Dear Tootie,

That's what I decided to call you when you were about 3 days old -- Tootie McWhistlebottom. Sadly for you, it looks like it's going to stick -- like I've learned baby poop does to pretty much anything, including cats. I'll occasionally throw in a Scooty McBooty or call you by your middle name just to keep you on your toes, but as it stands today you're nearly 7 months old, and there's no indication you have any idea what your real name is. For all we know you will think you're name is Kiwi (one of the cats), which is probably fine because she doesn't know her name either as a result of me constantly calling her anything other than the name I gave her. If you ever get mad about the nickname Tootie as you get older, I'll simply regale you with tales of how you used to make your mother and I feel like we'd been beaten mercilessly by Republican Guard torture experts for days on end after trying to feed you your bottle -- every four hours. Your mother may never recover, and what little hair and pride I had left now below to the Gerber Gods.

Copyright 2014, Travis Ross (Simple Man's Survival Guide)
I love my girls.
Thank you for making fart noises cool again. Without you I would just be a creepy 29 year old with an obsession for making random fart noises. However, as long as I'm making fart sounds in the vicinity of you, I'm just being a dad. I will probably flash back to all of these hour-long conversations we are having in Fartese someday when you're 16 and telling me how big of an a-hole I am because I won't let you go on a date with some 21-year-old prick who goes by the name Bones. Embarrassing moment: There was a time when you were sitting in your playpen grabbing your toes when suddenly you unloaded a Luvs killer worthy of its own license plate and blew yourself flat onto your back and then started laughing hysterically and making fart noises. If I'd captured that moment on camera, we'd be living on America's Funniest Home Videos money right now.

You are a binky snob. You will only take a green Soothie binkie. If we try and give you any other binky you look at us like we robbed all of the premium beer from your fridge and replaced it with Stag. I don't know what it is about a green Soothie binky, but I know that if you get in a mood and it ever takes us more than five minutes to find one, this house is gonna look like a scene straight out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. The smack addicts on Intervention complain less when they can't get a hit.

You are a master manipulator. We have been trying to put you to bed around 7PM for the last couple of months, but you won't have any of it. You warm up with a gentle "Wah, wah, wah" and over the course of 10 minutes it escalates to a full-on, face-quivering revolt. Your mother and I will be sitting in the living room, listening on the monitor, pretending not to hear and patiently playing some kind of unspoken, morbid game of Russian Roulette where we wait to see who cracks first and will end up getting you. And the minute we open the door, you stop screaming, smile and reach out your arms, because you know you've got us -- hook, line and stinker. I didn't write the book Go the F*ck to Sleep, but after spending numerous late nights holding a half-asleep baby and watching every episode of Intervention on my iPhone via Netflix twice, I have a healthy respect for whoever wrote it.

You are keeping the cats thin. The critters were just fine with you before you learned how to form a grip. They had taken you in as one of their own, just without fur. Ever since The Great Hair Ripping Incident of 2011 where you got a hold of Maggie and she ran away but you came up with a massive clump of black hair, they've been earning their Fancy Feast.

You have zero desire to crawl. Whenever we put you on the floor, you lay calmly for a minute with a look on your face that implies that maybe if you play dead we'll just give up, pick you up and return you to your upright position. After it sets in that we aren't going to budge, you start flailing your limbs and scream in such a way it sounds as though you are being waterboarded. I can only imagine what the neighbors think. You cause such a ruckus that your mother is convinced  Nosey Neighbor to our right (I'll explain to you what sets apart Nosey Neighbor to our right, Dumb Neighbor directly across the street, Old Neighbor to the right of Dumb Neighbor, and Weird Neighbor to our left when you get older) is going too call the Department of Children and Family Services because it sounds so painful.

But, you are awful cute, and we couldn't have asked for a sweeter baby. I guess we'll keep you, I just hope you forgive me for calling you Tootie.

Love,

Daddy

7 comments:

  1. Hahaha! Oh man, you did it again - I am literally laughing out loud at my computer at work, thanks to you, people will begin to think I'm crazy. But then I'll just blame it on your hilarious baby post. This was awesome, Travis! I hope you keep this and show this to Tootie when she is of age :D

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  2. Hi Day,

    Glad you enjoyed it. I definitely plan on showing it to Tootie when she gets a bit older. Thanks for reading!

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  3. This is one of the most adorable things I've ever read. How sweet! Your daughter sounds like a handful. I'm 18, though, and I'll go ahead and warn you that in fifteen years or so you're going to wish the only thing you had to worry about was what color the binky was.

    Nice letter, though. Really nice :)

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  4. Hi Raz. Thanks. She is a handful; no doubt about it. Yeah, I suspect karma will come back and bite me when she gets older.

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  5. Babies control everything.

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