My daughter has become the beard police.

Today’s morning started out as most do.  At about 7:45 Daphne started making “SQUEEEE!” noises and kicking at the slats of her crib, which is her gentle way of letting me know that she’s ready to get up and that right now.

So I went upstairs and opened the door to her room, and was immediately blindsided by an olfactory clubbing.  It seems she pooped at some point in the night, and the air hung laden with the dense stench of a long-befouled Pamper.

So we changed that one out, (and I made a mental note to remove the poop snake from the Diaper Genie this evening), and then came back downstairs for our daily cuddle time and YouTubing.

She flailed around on the bed for a bit, but then abruptly stopped…  And became very focused on my chin.

“Hey, what’s that?”

“What’s on your face?”

At which point she started pulling on my chin whiskers…

“Are…are those things attached to you???”

And then she recoiled in horror when she realized that these were, in fact, little…tiny…hairs.  Growin’ out my face.

“GAH!”

“That’s disgusting!”

“This hand will never be clean again.”

“You need to do something about that, old man.  Maybe see a doctor or something.”

Now in her defense, I did need a bit of a trim/shave.  But it isn’t like I’d gone hobocore or anything.  And I certainly didn’t deserve being looked at like I’d sprouted tiny lepers out of my face.  Especially from someone who required me to clean noxious milk sludge off her butt not 10 minutes earlier.

Anyway, I touched things up a bit before getting in the shower.  Hopefully this will meet her exacting standards.

There.

Is that better, little girl?

Sheesh…

j.s.