Earlier today, while attempting to pacify (with a pacifier) my infant daughter into what she apparently did not realize
was a much needed nap, I watched as she arched away from where I held her in
our nursery’s rocking chair, raise her tiny little left hand over her tiny
little left shoulder, and extend her tiny little left middle finger in the
general direction of our apartment’s front door (a gesture which I had to
assume was directed to the outside world, and not simply at the door itself). My daughter then kept said finger extended,
in order, I suppose, to convey some sort of message to the outside world and
the rest of humanity residing there.
“Yes,” I remember thinking at the time, “this
is definitely my daughter.”
Happy Holidays from the Recent Paterfamilias.
(In the interest of full
disclosure, it should be noted that my daughter is currently teething and suffering from a rather heinous cold.)
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