Protect yourself at all times

If you have been reading this blog on a regular basis, you may have noticed that there are a couple of reoccurring themes. One of these themes is that my children are trying to blind me. You can see evidence of this here and here. Recently, I came to the realization that the truth is much worst than I had originally believed. My children are not simply trying to blind me. They are trying to kill me. The fact that, to date, they have not succeeded is due, in large part to the fact that they are still very wee and have not developed the upper body strength to inflict serious harm.

As a Dad, there is no greater joy then coming home to your two loving children and playing with them on the floor. At least, that’s what we’ve been taught by modern fatherhood culture. The truth is that playing on the floor is the most hazardous activity in which new father can partake. Forget deep sea diving or skydiving, they don’t even come close. If insurance companies knew the truth, every father would have their premium rates increase ten fold.

I usually get home from work at 5:30 and am met by two lil’ ones running over to play. I get down on the floor and lay on my back and both kids immediately start to jump and crawl all over me. It’s so sweet. Two of the three people I love most on this planet (mad shot out to my beautiful wife) laughing and jumping and rolling around on the floor with me. It’s truly magical. I feel so loved. I feel so needed. I feel…MOTHERF@#*ER! What the hell was that!?!

Zach looks up at me with the cutest grin. Between his teeth is the skin from that really sensitive part where your arm meets your chest. He is laughing and having a great time. I am trying to pry my skin from his teeth. I bring my arm across to pull Zach’s teeth from my body just as Abby gives me Seated Senton. A Seated Senton is a wrestling move where a person stands over a prone person, lifts their legs up and allows their full weight to drop onto that person’s abdomen area. It’s also referred to as Butt Drop. I let out an “Oomph” and jack-knife my body to absorb some of the impact only to have Zach poke my eye with a magnifying glass. A magnifying glass! Where the hell did that come from anyways?

It’s around then that I realize I’ve got to get some control back here. This is getting out of hand and I’m now at serious risk. I use my biggest daddy voice I can muster and say something manly like “You are hurting Daddy! Why are you hurting daddy?” I can just imagine my inner Man face=palming and muttering “Oh Jesus, when did you turn into such a sissy?”

But it works. They back off. Abby looks at me and says “Daddy hurt”. I’m rolling and writhing in pain “Yes, daddy hurt.”

“I’ll make you better” The sweet child who loves me is back and wants to make me happy. She goes and grabs her doctor bag and comes back. She tells me to lie down. She takes my temperature and listens to my heart beat. “You sick daddy, look up”. I look up so she can continue the medical exam. I’m so proud at her empathy and her care. It makes it all worth while. All the pain that I just went through just slips away. My daughter, the doctor.

“Now choke!” Wait, what?

BOOM. Karate chop to the throat.

I am not kidding. She just tried to crush my larynx with the side of her palm. I’m choking and gasping for air. My wife comes out from the kitchen (without a sandwich I might add) and asks “Everything okay?”

I’m 245 pounds. I’ve played semi-pro rugby overseas. What the hell am I gonna say? “No, everything is not okay? Our 35 pound daughter just hurt me. I need to go to the emergency room. Quick, grab a pen. I think I might need a tracheotomy?” I can’t say that. Instead, I look up at her from all fours. “I’m fine, I’m good.”

Touché Abby. You got me good. I’ll be ready for you next time. You won’t catch me in a vulnerable position again. I’ve learnt my lesson. I’m gonna protect myself at all…OUCH. MOTHER F@#*ER! Zach Stop biting!