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Fatherhood is a Gamble

My daughter is like a slot machine: old people love her, she makes 
a lot of loud noises and I keep pouring money into her.  But lately, parenting is feeling even more like a gamble because she won’t let me hand her food directly. I have to put whatever I want her to eat on the tray of her high chair, then she picks it up herself, inspects it and decides if she’ll accept it. It’s like handing a blackjack dealer money in Vegas: sometimes some of what I give her comes back to me, but mostly I just get back shit.
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LieuteNate DeWitt

Tuesday is one of the days when I’m Trixie’s primary care provider, so I get to play Mr. Mom, or as my wife likes to call it, “Dad.”  Trixie and I spend the day together while my wife works. When she gets home around six we have dinner, give the baby a bath and put her to bed.  Last Tuesday my wife had to work late which meant I was on my own for dinner, bath time and bedtime. I don’t get too flustered by the tasks required of fatherhood, so it was no big deal.  In college, I babysat my three younger siblings during the summers. The older ones were 7 and 8 and the baby was 8 months old one summer and 20 months old the next, so I’m no stranger to changing diapers, making bottles or entertaining the endless monologue of questions which can come out of kids.  Naturally, it wasn’t a problem to feed and bathe my daughter. In fact, when it’s just me and her, I kind of love it because I get to make all the decisions. I think of myself as Lieutenate DeWitt. LieuteNate ...
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