My Fat Ass Daughter

Hey everyone.  My daughter is a fat ass!  A real porker.  "Oink, oink, piggy-piggy."  Fat fucking fat fat fatty fat fat.  Lard ass.  Blimpo.  I found a family of chipmunks living in one of her folds.
She smells like bacon grease and heart disease.  She's fat, I tell ya.

We had her weigh-in yesterday.  For those that don't know, we have the Peanut weighed every three  to four months because she is borderline failure-to-thrive.  Her weigh in at the end of december was rough.  She wasn't just gaining slowly anymore, she had lost weight.  Officially failure to thrive.  Yesterday?  She has gained 2 whole pounds, the fat bitch.  I don't know what she's been eating, but whatever it is we're all out of it.  She's a black hole with cellulite.  Living with my daughter is like living with Kirstie Alley if Kirstie Alley had been eaten by my daughter.  Wide.  Load.

This was the main stress point that contributed to my cranky mood this week.  I'd like to apologize to anyone it affected.  I believe I thoroughly shit all over Knucklehead at knuckleheadhumor.com because I partially disagreed with his American Idol analysis.  I commented on his blog, he emailed back, and I think I wrote back something like, "Oh yeah, well you're wrong because fuck you, Wrong-y."

Err, sorry about that.

As for my sexting with God, well, my wife knows about it, the relationship hasn't gone any farther than the cell phone, and I'm going to break it off soon.  Dude's mad cling-y.  Although the pic of him tea-bagging a pissed off Archangel Gabriel is a keeper.



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My daughter the Peanut or Skinny Toddlers Suck

We call our daughter the Peanut because she is small. Short and very skinny. Like a pixie or a midget heroin junkie. As my wife says, she's the only two year old you'll meet with a six-pack.

Developmentally she's doing very well cognitively and well enough physically. For a while she was in the tenth percentile for height and third for weight. And although we're talking jockey and Tom Cruise stunt double as future career possibilities we were ok with that. Our doctor told us as long as she stays at those numbers, there is no problem.

So, we fed her very healthy stuff. As my wife's blog (yeah, that's right, one couple, two blogs. Sue us.) will attest to, we started out feeding her all the right stuff. Organic, locally grown, high fiber, blueberry, and brown rice soy balls with an organic cane sugar glaze cooked using renewable wind energy in an oven made out of hemp.

And then the doctor said that she had "fallen off the (weight) chart" and used terms like 'failure to thrive" and "tube feeding." And we were lost.

"This isn't our fault. She's got a fast metabolism. Everything will be fine." we told each other over and over again because the one was sure that the other was always lying.

We didn't discuss this with many of the people around us. Personally, I was a little worried about being judged. In my own defense a lot of these people were not exactly up on the latest in infant nutrition. By way of example, the Peanut has a great aunt who tried to give her both lemon meringue pie and honey when she was 8 months old. So she had to be talked to about what she could and couldn't feed our baby daughter:

"Yes on the dry cheerios, auntie. No on the peanut brittle. "

We found ourselves with precious little in the way of a support system and scared out of our minds.

Then, we had an epiphany. Doughnuts! O Happy Day. Or more specifically, Donuts. The Peanut loves donuts.

From that moment on she has been on a 6 chocolate munchkins a day diet. That, along with recommended supplementary additives to most of her food (read: Butter, cheese, cream, butter flavored cheese with creamed cheese butter and butter. And cheese.) has put on, "as much weight as I could've hoped for," to quote her pediatrician at the last weigh-in. So we will continue.

An added wrinkle is the use of one M&M per bite as a bribe when she is being stubborn about eating. Which happens pretty often because she can feel our tension at meals which to her means power. And absolute power corrupts absolutely. Plus, the Peanut is a little on the bossy side. Sometimes it's like eating diner with Augusto Pinochet.

But, all in all, things are going better. We've relaxed our rules mostly around snack time and at dinner we still try to mostly give her the organic stuff, just soaked with organic butter.

So to those of you who have had the same problem, you can handle it. And for those who like to judge, don't hate. It's unbecoming.