Often I wonder just how biased my opinion of my daughter is. Am I 'Bill O'Reilly eating a meal at a restaurant in Harlem' biased, or just your average everyday 'dad who believes everything his daughter does is awesome' biased?
You know how parents can be. My wife and I joke about every milestone Peanut reaches by describing her as being "so advanced." I still give my cousins grief because their mother, my aunt, used to brag about the most inane things they did. "Oh, my boys
looove fruit." Really? Who doesn't love fruit? It tastes good, costs little, and is good for you. But that's beside the point.
It's simple to get caught up in bragging about everything your baby does. On the other hand, I'm sure it's also annoying to hear a mom or a dad so blinded by the love for their child that they consider the changing color of that child's poop as a miracle, and are not afraid to share their feelings with whomever will listen.
That said, I am about to spread the word about how my daughter is the greatest thing since peanut butter. You see what I just did there? I used the word
spread in the same sentence I compared Peanut to peanut
butter. Pretty cool.
My wife and I throw an annual Halloween party. Since it can get louder than your wackiest uncle's tackiest Christmas tie, we had every intention of setting up a babysitter. But our options all included either a drunken pickup at two in the morning or Peanut's first sleepover without us. And as relaxed as we like to think we are, deep down inside, we really weren't ready for that.
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| Our little "Boo" |
So we kept her in her room during the party. Asleep. She made it through the arrivals, the first few rounds of drinks, and the "
Monster Mash." Then somewhere between the painfully strong vodka gummy worms and the second batch of witch's punch, the zombie had risen from the dead.
"Brains!"
But instead of being a Nightmare on Elm Street, she was more Young Frankenstein. Quietly amusing. She was a bit confused by the get-ups her parents were wearing. Then, when we brought her out of her room, she was even more surprised to see dozens of other crazily clad kooks had overtaken her home. But she hung in there like a spider gripping the last strand of crumbling web.
She had seen what all the commotion was, checked out the scene if you will, and she was not impressed. "I'm going back to bed. Try to keep it to a dull roar out here."
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| We're flirting with bad parenting right here. |
I'm not sure how many babies out there would have responded the same way. Wouldn't have freaked out, and broken up the party. Instead, she sort of became the life of the party for about fifteen minutes. I'm also not sure how many parents out there wouldn't have called DYFS had they known we were keeping our eight-month old in her crib as we pounded drinks in the next room.
But I am sure of this: we are very lucky to have such a calm baby who generally (with some notable exceptions) goes with the flow. My daughter's very cool. Oh, and she loves fruit, too.
