Entry for April 6, 2007

Here is my top baby game of the moment: I approach the baby and say “Cheesio Peasios. Cheesio Peasios”. A smile of recognition then crosses her face. I then put on a manic grin, extend my hands and say “You can’t escape the daddy.” Tickling and giggling ensue.
Oh GodOhGodOhGodOhGod. My brain has turned to mush. Worse than inventing the game, I feel compelled to mention it on here. I am turning into Dull Doting Father of the Year. I find myself describing her latest humorous incident – “She looks just like Mohammed Ali in her hooded towel after her bath.” – to colleagues at work. I scarcely notice as their heads thud gently off the desk and they start to drool over the blotter. No – I carry on regardless as they attempt to hang themselves with a Dictaphone lead.
Take me out and shoot me now. It is the kindest thing, for both you and me. It will save you reading boring entries like this. And it may mean, instead of gently fading into rambling and embarrassing fatherhood, I will be remembered as the young, trendy man that I once was.
It’s difficult to imagine it now, but I once knew most of the steps to Tiger Feet