Good Morning, Daddy

Sally had a gig shooting some lawyers in Milwaukee this morning, and she left just before the kids woke up. Not long after she closed the door, and while I was still in bed, Francis came into my room to see if I was awake. You know, this is one of those iconic moments of parenthood: angelic child padding into the parents’ bedroom to start the day. If I had a picture of being a daddy, it was something like this.

Francis was carrying her blanket in one hand, and she held her other hand in front of her as she walked up to me. I didn’t have my glasses on, so her fingers were two inches from my face before I noticed her finger had something on it. It’s not uncommon for Francis to show me the most recent thing that she’s fished out of her nose, so that’s what I expected. This was something different, though.

“What did you get into?” I asked as I tested the substance between my fingers. The answer was a gleeful whisper, like she was playing a joke: “it’s poo poo, daddy.” It was no joke.