Monday, April 12, 2010

Tor Baby Countdown: 50 Days

I'm not sure I fit the image of a dad. Look at that guy. That guy's a dad. I don't wear sweaters like that and, if I did, I certainly wouldn't fill them out as well. I mean, that's what my wife looks like and that's what our daughter will look like but I have a poop-ton of work to do to get to that. He sets the dad standard.

I lack the balance necessary to be a dad. Dads pick their kids up and put them on their shoulders. My body's already like a Jenga tower with most of the pieces missing. Placing a toddler on top of that can only lead to disaster.

Now put a wooden child on top.

One of my problems is that my wrists are so small. In utero, my daughter already has wrists close in size to mine. I don't wear watches because the only ones that will fit me would have to be bought at Justice. While it would be cute to have matching Father/Daughter pink sparkle watches, I'm not into it.

Dads wear Dockers or Brooks Brothers. I wear t-shirts with funny sayings and pictures on them.

Dads always have a tool belt on so they can fix things. The greeter at Home Depot asks me, "Are you sure?" when I enter.

Dads drink beer. I prefer beverages that end in "fizz."

"I didn't know it was time for the Giants game already."

Dads protect their daughters from unworthy suitors. I would spend most of the pre-date hoping they like me and find me funny.

Dads are expected to kill spiders and other bugs. I tell exterminators that I have their back and then run screaming out of the house and hole up in the nearest TCBY.

In conclusion, I'm not ready.

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