No More Daddy, Want More Baby

When Olivia, my two-year-old, tells me 'no more daddy,' it means she’s had enough of me. (Not one to mince words, this kid.) She’s only a toddler, but still, that’s not a nice thing to say to someone. Imagine you were on the phone with your friend Adam, and he's telling you how he lost his job and his wife left him, and you just blurted out 'NO MORE ADAM' and hung up on him. I know one thing for sure: Adam’s day didn’t get any better. 

One time I was in Olivia’s room, singing my heart out with my usual repertoire of bedtime songs -- 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,' 'Rockabye Baby,' 'Helter Skelter' – and I could tell this moment was one of those sweet Hallmark moments your mind takes a snapshot of to cherish forever. Me and my adorable baby girl sharing the most tender of moments as I'm singing sweetly and tenderly. She puts her tiny hand on my arm, tilts her head up to me, her big beautiful brown eyes making contact with mine, and while gently tapping my arm, whispers, 'No more daddy.' Wait, what? I started to question her, but she looked serious. Deflated and wondering how Simon Cowell got in my daughter’s bed, I gathered my belongings and headed for the door. I paused a moment at the door, in case she wants to tell me she’s joking, or 'good night daddy,' and very faintly I hear her repeating, 'no more daddy,' as if it's a mantra to help her fall asleep

I try not to take it too personally; after all, she’s too young to say, "I’d like some privacy, please." (Which I’d like to believe 'no more daddy' means, as opposed to her wishing I would leave the house for a few weeks.) I suppose I should appreciate that she’s so direct and that maybe she’ll grow up to be a strong young woman, not afraid to speak her mind; but not when she’s two years old. From what I saw in the movies and on TV, she should be running into my arms whenever I walk into the room, crying out "DADDY!" But, not only was that not happening, sometimes the mere sight of me caused her explosive tantrums. I've had a similar effect on females before, but not to such dramatic extremes.

There was another time we were having an awesome time together. I’m tossing her around on the bed and jumping around like a monkey. She’s hysterical laughing— I mean, I’m killing it! Then she starts yelling out, "Want more baby!" Huh? "Don’t you mean 'Want more daddy?'" I asked incredulously. Visibly annoyed, as if I didn’t hear her the first time, she repeated, "Want more… baby." She wanted more of herself, what could I do? She’d prefer the company of a duplicate version of herself than me. (And to think that one day this kid will want me to walk her down the aisle. I find myself sometimes wanting to hold that over her head, threatening to tell her I wouldn't if she kept her behavior up, but she’d probably just tell me she’d get a groomsman to do it.)

To be honest, I’m not sure she still knows what to make of me. I’m just some guy who seems to be around every corner, piddling with this or that, like some shoe-less drifter who wandered in off the street eating the leftover fish sticks on her plate. She sees me spraying for bugs, assembling swing sets, putting up curtains… to her, I’m the help; like Schneider, the superintendent from the 70’s sitcom "One Day at a Time." I pop in without warning, provide a little comedic relief, change a light bulb, and I’m right back out the door again with the racket of a thousand keys jingling against each other on the oversized key ring attached to my belt buckle, ringing loudly in my wake. A roar of laughter and applause fills the room on my departure, and I'm not seen again until the next episode when there's a lull in the plot.

As a new parent, I never really thought my toddler wouldn’t like me. If anything, it should be the other way around. If you think about it, she gives me every reason not to like her. She waltzes around the house doing super annoying things to me, like picking up my toast, licking the jelly off it, and putting it back on the plate. Or nonchalantly walking into my office, holding out her hand, and dropping a brick of poop into mine. One time, when I was relaxing in the tub with my eyes closed, a wet rag was placed on my face. I pulled it off to find her standing there with a certain look on her face that told me I was about to get waterboarded. None of this was in any of the baby books, mind you. There was no chapter called, "What to do When Your Toddler Attempts to Take Your Life." Instead, they called it the "Terrible Twos." They should call it the 'Terrifying Twos' or 'Better Watch Your Back Twos.'

But then, something strange happened. One day, I came home after a rough day at a new job that I quickly began to loathe. I walked through the door, and my little baby girl came running around the corner, cheering 'DADDY!' As I squatted down, she ran full force into my open arms, nearly knocking me over. What was this? I thought. A switch seemed to have been flipped, things instantly changed. Later that day she called me over to show me a puzzle she just finished, she was seeking my approval. Her new favorite thing to do was run through the sprinklers hand-in-hand with me. When I read to her at night, she begged for 'one more book' just so she could stay nuzzled in the cozy nook. When her mom put her in a new dress she loved, I'd hear her footsteps running down the stairs to proudly show me. She no longer recoiled at the very sight of me. No more tantrums being thrown if she were left alone with me. A sea change had taken place. Our connection strengthened, transforming into the Hallmark version of a 'daddy-daughter relationship' I had so yearned for, just like in the movies or on TV. I was no longer Schneider, I was daddy.