Morning After Morning

Each morning at about 7:15, I am awakened by the same sound.

Namely, my daughter shouting, “DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA!” directly into the microphone of our Summer HD Baby Monitor.

I have no idea how she figured out that this is the best method for summoning her father upstairs to rescue her from the tribulations of crib boredom, and that of a diaper approaching structural collapse from oversaturation.

Suffice to say, it does work.

What happens from there is usually up to her though.  Some mornings she’s an absolute dervish, climbing around on me, the dog, the headboard, and regularly trying to hurl herself off the edge of the bed.

ohnoyoudontWe’re simpatico, MonkeyDad.

This behavior continues until I give up and distract her by either playing the exact same Sesame Street video that we watch EVERY SINGLE DAY, or I hand her the video recorder on my iPhone.

You guys look silly holding your heads sideways…



But then there are mornings like the one we just had today.  Where I bring her downstairs and she immediately curls up next to me, sighs contentedly, and we both go back to sleep for over an hour-and-a-half.

Which is, without question, the best way for any daddy to start his day.


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