More a Zookeeper Than a Parent

My Daughter is a Puppy and This is Concerning

My daughter is two and a half years old now, and I’m still not convinced I’m a parent.

Our relationship bears many of the hallmarks of a typical father-daughter dichotomy; she spends my money and I lose sleep, but I don’t think what I do can really be called ‘parenting’ just yet.

I see folk out on the school run, doing their kids’ homework, taking them to sports clubs, and imparting genuine parental wisdom and I find it very hard to relate. But if I stumble upon a video of a farmhand shovelling horseshit into a barrow, or Rocky Balboa chasing that chicken in an alleyway, I see my brothers in arms.

On a day-to-day basis, my life is to ensure that no room she enters contains any objects she could break, swallow or insert anywhere they should not be inserted. And her job seems to be to find, hide, retrieve, and do strange and unpleasant things with all those objects. We have lost toys, clothes, and bottles for months at a time, just for them to one day reappear in the middle of the room, as soon as she decides the torment should end.

Looking after a toddler is an extremely difficult, exhausting task. But it’s a task demanding a very particular set of skills, none of which overlap with the skills employed in parenting.

I’m a clown, a cleaner, and a zookeeper. A personal hygienist and a professional wrestler. I’m here to remove any items before they get shoved up a tiny nose, and, upon failing that, to carefully remove any items from inside said tiny nose.

I’m here to keep her quiet while the rest of the house sleeps. I’m here to put all her toys back in the toy box just after she has emptied all her toys out of the toy box, for the 29th time that day.

I’m here to wipe up snot from her vest and food from her hands. I’m here to wipe up vomit after a long car ride. And I’m here to wipe shit of all colours and consistencies from her smelly, rotten arse.

I’m more of a pet owner than a parent. My job is to keep her alive and her behaviour bearable. Eventually, she’ll turn into a human and I can begin to show off all the mad parental skills that I presume I possess, without any evidence whatsoever. Until then she is a little Labrador puppy; all unbridled energy, unintelligible yapping sounds, and horrible smells.

I am one step from following her round with little plastic bags and a pooper scooper.

Please become a person soon, baby. Daddy is very tired.

Hello there, thanks for stopping by

If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read here, and even if you haven’t, give me a follow and have a flick through my other stories to see if anything else there tickles your fancy