Great moments in fatherhood
Baby pretty much never likes to be left alone under any circumstances, so if you try to close a door with her on the outside, she'll pound on it and wail until she pushes it open or you let her in--all the more so now that she is walking and has more leverage. Consequently, we very seldom close doors in our house any longer. Including the bathroom...and you can probably guess where I'm going with this.
Gretchen gave up any semblance of privacy ages ago, but I had managed to keep at least a smattering of dignity. Then, a few weeks ago I was in the bathroom when the door came flying open. Baby promptly pointed at my...ummm..."nether regions", if you will, while I stood there helplessly--and started laughing as if that was clearly the funniest thing she'd ever seen. Then, when I was finished taking care of business, she pointed again and said "all done!". She then found Gretchen, pointed in my general direction, said "dada", grabbed her crotch and shook it and laughed like she was ever-so-proud of herself (which reminded me of the time my then-young nephew demanded I take him to the potty, and when he finished gave an exaggerated hip wiggle and said "shake, shake, shake!", which he told me his father had taught him to do).
Yes, I know that's probably too much information. But put yourself in my shoes. Am I going to be responsible for her ending up in therapy someday?
On a more positive fatherly note, to Gretchen's chagrin I've managed to teach Baby that burping and farting is always funny, no matter the circumstances...
Gretchen gave up any semblance of privacy ages ago, but I had managed to keep at least a smattering of dignity. Then, a few weeks ago I was in the bathroom when the door came flying open. Baby promptly pointed at my...ummm..."nether regions", if you will, while I stood there helplessly--and started laughing as if that was clearly the funniest thing she'd ever seen. Then, when I was finished taking care of business, she pointed again and said "all done!". She then found Gretchen, pointed in my general direction, said "dada", grabbed her crotch and shook it and laughed like she was ever-so-proud of herself (which reminded me of the time my then-young nephew demanded I take him to the potty, and when he finished gave an exaggerated hip wiggle and said "shake, shake, shake!", which he told me his father had taught him to do).
Yes, I know that's probably too much information. But put yourself in my shoes. Am I going to be responsible for her ending up in therapy someday?
On a more positive fatherly note, to Gretchen's chagrin I've managed to teach Baby that burping and farting is always funny, no matter the circumstances...
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