Don't Call Me Daughter

So, you might have noticed I've been a bit light on the posts recently. That is a direct result of Jester birthing a child. Said child -- we'll call her Daughter -- is absolutely adorable, but she looks very little like Jester or me (although clearly better looking than both of us). Now that the paternity test has confirmed that I am the father, I feel comfortable writing about Daughter.

We brought Daughter home a week ago today. The past week has been filled with tears, mustard-colored stains, blood-curdling screams, and, most notably, feces. The same goes for Daughter's week too.

But seriously, folks, Daughter is awesome thus far. She is already sleeping for 4-6 hours at time at night. Her dumps sound hilarious (kind of like the dying giraffe from the South Park movie). Her hair forms into a natural mohawk when dried after a bath (see picture to the left). I find the rhythm of her crying to be soothing. She has learned how to give the middle finger to both Kentucky and the Packers. She loves swinging (as in sitting in a baby swing, as opposed to going to key parties). She is already quoting Seagal movies ("I'd like to kill you so bad I can barely contain myself. But I've been thinking, death is far too merciful a fate for you."). She's already recruiting fellow babies to join her in the IU Class of '32. And she can already hum the melody to several Iron Maiden songs, including "The Trooper," which we have hilariously renamed "The Pooper." She hears it approximately 6-8 times in every 24-hour period. The lyrics of the song are eerily applicable to the changing of diapers.

Many of you have asked about Harley. She got off to a rather disconcerting start with Daughter and, therefore, had to be destroyed. It was a tough decision, but a necessary step to ensure the safety of the child. We had her stuffed in her classic "lounging on the couch" position and even put a Santa hat on her for the holidays.

I kid. Harley has taken a very zen approach to the baby's arrival. There has been some curious sniffing, but little else.

All in all, the first week of fatherhood has been slightly easier than I expected. For writing that, I fully expect shit to hit the fan (quite possibly literally).