Your Mom Wants Another…

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…kid, sooner than later. After all, she had this article printed as I hover closer to 34 years further from birth.

…someone born to a father of 22 is already 5%-10% more attractive than a 40-year-old father and the difference grows with the age gap

Well. Pack your bags and leave for the weekend, Baby Rangirl. Mommy and Daddy need to um, go buy a brother/sister for you right away to ensure they’re not a mongrel.


Keep Your Letters, Dad

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In what seems as a response to my earlier post, Baby Rangirl protested by reshuffling the letters of “S-H-I-T” to “I-H-S-T”, a clear reference to helicopter safety…or hygiene and safety.



But that’s just the cusp of your douche-tude. Whoever called it the “terrible twos” had you in mind, Baby Rangirl- the “terrible douchetwos” is more like it. You are currently at the center of your own world, demanding things go your way and we only play by your wants.

Screw the bowl of food- you want to see your YouTube kitty videos instead. Milk? No. You want to run around the house with your parents chasing you. Time for bed? Nope. Time for a cookie and you’ll do this fake cry which evolves into a real gag-fest.

Now we understand that this is life. This is normal. Screw the norm. Your antics drive me nuts. Thus, I spoil you more. You’re a well-oiled machine. A master manipulator. I hate this paragraph. It reminds me that you always win, annoying or not.

Sigh. You win. Here, have a toy.


Only Letters Left


Baby Rangirl, my assumption is that you say way too many words not allowed in movies rated PG by the time you read this. Chances are it’s the influence of friends that have you uttering phrases like “gosh darn it” or “bullocks!” I never liked your friends and their long, rebellious hair.

Or, perhaps the foul language in your ensemble of phrases just come from bad parenting. You lose all sorts of toys and letters from your magnetic alphabet set, that we simply combine the remaining letters on the fridge to spell phrases that just make sense at the time.


Two It Is

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Well, you’re 2 years of age Baby Rangirl. Or Big Girl Rangirl. The inches on your legs keep piling up, the size of your head continue to defy the neck opening on your shirts, and the crap you say remains priceless.

-”Oh my God!” in the most convenient of contexts, such as when we humiliate you in front of people
-”No thank you!” to everything from brushing your teeth to taking a bath
-”It’s red!” to every question that begs for a color, any non-red color, as the answer

Next up is to get you potty trained. I am so annoyed with changing diapers, and I barely change them as is. It’s funny when you yell at me to “go away!” as you crap your diapers- perhaps a sign of more shooing your old man away when I’m all up in your conversations to boys and trips to illegally buy booze.

Your 2nd birthday did bring the unfortunate moving of your celebration date yet again. Last year the New Hampshirian snow forced us to move your birthday celebration up north to April. This year you got an ear infection which moved the New York celebration to – well, April. I’d dub your honorary birthday in April if your grandparents didn’t birthday-block with their anniversary, the same way they currently occupy your actual birthday with their own in February.

We even need to change the theme of your birthday because you shifted from the love of Shrek to Toy Story. So much that you are going to bed with hard plastic figurines of Buzz and Woody instead of stuffed ponies and other sexist animals.

I did not expect you to grow up as quick as you did- you’re even posing for pics.


You’re even talking to the birds like an old lady.



Changing All the Time

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Well kid, you’ve grown into a full-blown girl. You want to comb everything’s hair, you have your preferred go-to accessories, and you change your mind more often than you trip over your own feet. And it’s okay: comb away at Elmo’s untamable red locks of fur. Match your beautiful evening dress with the only pair of destroyed sneakers you willingly wear.

But seriously. Do you like Shrek? Or are you now a Toy Story fan?

You still have your original favorite show Yo Gabba Gabba! as our default episodes played while we’re out eating and you’re out whining. But Shrek was requested almost daily for weeks at a time by Baby Rangirl.

So we sent out invites to your birthday with Shrek as the theme and you could care less. Toy Story. Woody. Buzz.

Might I add if we’re not buying toys/gifts with a theme, then it’s very hard to convince Baby Rangirl to play with a no-name tea set. Slap Buzz’s face on it- she’s ready to pour me a cup of her finest brewed.

So I anticipate money to be lost in all these fads. As a result, I will find a way to embarrass the kid with her pics. For example- here’s a pic of Baby Rangirl from our trip to San Francisco maintaining her distance with a peacock at the zoo. She was scared senseless of it. More to come.


The Science in Kid Control

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Who knew that I’d have more need for High School science classes than calculus? Life’s been nothing but hypotheses and theories. I forget the difference between the 2, but certainly either make more sense these days than solving for derivatives and using an imaginary i number that’s somehow negative, even though it didn’t exist in the first place. Some hypotheses I’ve been working on:

  • I suspect we’ll buy more minutes of sleep if the kid sleeps 10 minutes later at night.
  • A nap during the day makes dinner time less annoying with food remaining off the floor. I don’t have a control group for this, so I might have to deprive Mrs. Ranman of a nap to further test.
  • The cat is the source of all things evil in the house. Only way to test this one is by getting rid of her…
  • The estrogen level in the house is way too high. I’m riding in a pink car for crying out loud.
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  • Driving is more comfortable from the front seat. In the winter, at least. Look at the hate in her eyes.
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  • I think coffee in moderation is okay for an almost-2-year-old. We’ll find out soon enough after she took a swig of my dunkin donuts when I wasn’t looking prior to this post.
  • Tight Quarters

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    Happy New Year, Baby Rangirl! In a month you’ll be in your…what’s it called? Horrible 2′s? Nutnumbing 2′s? Getmeouttahere 2′s?

    Egads are you getting old, fast!

    We’re already leveraging your Christmas gifts to show you what life will be if you decide to move out of the house for a boy on your Rite Aid salary in New York: deprived of space. What happens when we want to visit you in order to rub in what a terrible mistake you’ve made? Only one parent-at-a-time can visit!


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