My daughter turned six months old just yesterday. Six months/six years/six minutes. If you have a kid, you know what I mean. If you don’t, I’M BETTER THAN YOU. Here’s some thoughts.
My wife is an absolute machine. If I sleep less than six hours, I have to do rails of Folgers at work like I’m a roadie for Fleetwood Mac. She can hold our daughter in a blizzard for 45 hours straight before she asks me to step in so she can pee.
My daughter is a bruiser. She loves to be raised into the air, rolled, flipped and generally run ragged. With that energy level, I have to make sure she doesn’t learn home improvement skills or my ass is out on the street. My wife will replace me with her for construction in two seconds. But I can duct tape anything!
I can entertain a child! Yay! I have no breastmilk. Boo! That sums up my value to my daughter in a pinch.
Hey, is there some kind of Star Wars movie out? What year is it? Soon I will be asking people if they’ve seen hot new shows like Happy Days or Leave it to Beaver.
Well, I actually fell asleep typing this sitting straight up. I think that’s all I have. Happy half bday, peanut.