We’re in the process of redirecting Baby Rangirl’s attempts to mouth-kiss in favor of a cheek-peck. Or I am, at least. Mommy Ranman fully understands the kid is young and misguided, as does my coworkers. Yup. This is what Chris Rock was talking about. Keeping your daughter off the stripper pole. And sitting back to accept everyone else’s opinion is how it begins.

Then there’s the other facet of raising a nice girl. Baby Rangirl- as you read this years from now I hope you’re not the potty mouth you are right now. “You douche” is probably the nicest thing you say- I’ve heard people say S and F-bombs that can easily be traced back to any touch point in New York, including home. It doesn’t help when your mother constantly calls me a male organ or female dog for some of my less favorable actions against your her at home.

Here are some of the phrases you’ve been using lately:

  • Yo bugga! (Yo Gabba Gabba!)
  • Shek, duggie, pinchesh (Shrek, Donkey, Princess)
  • Douche? (Douche?)
  • Bankey (blanket/blankey)
  • Bosh teet (brush teeth)
  • I did it!
  • Coshee (coffee)
  • Get down Buju!! (Get down Buju…our stupid cat)
  • Stupid Buju (stupid Buju…our stupid cat)
  • In the effort to ensure your mother and I stay together to keep you off the proverbial pole, we’re trying all the time to not let your tendency to act like a baby get to us. There’s this article going around the web which I had your mother paraphrase for me- essentially stating that a happy marriage is one where you are most selfless: http://sethadamsmith.com/2013/11/02/marriage-isnt-for-you/

    Well I assume that’s what it said because I’m not reading all those words. For all I know, your mother is just saying that so she can get her way when in reality the article reveals that a successful marriage is making the husband Buffalo Chicken
    Cheese Dip on demand. Your mother is fully aware that my selfishness in refusing to grow up and censor it all for the benefit of a clean home is here to stay. I’m just too dumb to realize that you’re not being a douche, but rather- your incisors are coming in. Or, it’s not that you hate me watching Mad Man- instead, you’re crying because you fell off your toy chair which Daddy forgot to fix.

    I don’t know who’s the baby in the house- you or me.


    And here you are, still a tiny buggar no matter how heavy you feel…