Today is my youngest daughter’s birthday. It is also, however, comma, the ten-year anniversary of the death of Douglas Adams. So which do I write about? Well, duh! How much can you say about a two-year-old’s birthday? Seriously? Who cares? I mean, I can’t think of– hang on… I’m being told by… What’s that? I am? No? Oh. Okay. Never mind. Apparently we’re uh… Let’s… Well, let’s just back it up a bit.
So as I was saying, of course I’m going to talk about The Bug’s birthday! I mean, how exciting! She’s two years old! And!… And!… Two! Can you believe that? Okay! That’s it!
On a serious note, it is pretty crazy how quickly time flies. Remember when I wrote this column on the day she was born? Yeah dudes. Two years ago. Now she’s running around, talking little baby talk, saying things all cute, climbing up stuff, pulling things off shelves, tearing the pages out of books, spilling milk all over the couch… Okay. Maybe we shouldn’t talk about her.
No, but seriously, she’s a good little girl, well-disciplined and well-mannered, and possibly the sweetest little baby the world has ever known. I mean come on, guys, how many two-year-olds do you know who say “Bless you!” when you sneeze? And she’s been doing that for six months. She’s such an angel, I don’t know how I’m going to live without a two-year-old in the house once she’s grown up. Both of my girls are princesses. And this one, just like her older sister, is a girly girl. I mean, there is no doubt she likes girl things. Everything is pink.
It’s funny – when we painted her room, before she was born, when she was still just an “it”, we painted it an ugly shade of brownish snotty green. My red-haired wife picked the color out and I had nothing to do with it. I have no idea what she was thinking, either. We tried to pretty the room up with little pink letters that spell out her name, but I think she knows. She knows the room is the color of a flu patient’s snot. She’s a good sport about it though. She forgives.
So welcome, Laynie, to the terrible twos. I should have welcomed you about a month ago when you started the pre-game festivities, and started acting like you were two already, destroying my entire house. But all is well. I still love you. And you’re far better than any other child I know of. Your terrible-twos are like most other kids being their best. So I’ll take it.
Happy birthday, Bug. I am honored, privileged, and blessed to be your father, and likewise – to have you as a daughter. Here’s to many, many more.