2 hours before Halloween, I got a trick, a treat, and a 3rd baby in my candy bag. Yes, I am now a daddy of not one, not two, but three. Three girls to be precise. Which is cool because with the help of my sexy Korean wife, I can now field a co-ed, NBA basketball team. Not just yet, however, since some of my players can’t even walk let alone lift a basketball. I’m not sure if they’ll be good or sucky basketball players, but there is one absolute certainty that gives me solace – they’ll be smokin’ hot (thanks to the genes of my better half).
So I must wait – 20 years at least to introduce my Korea/China-uniting basketball juggernaut eventually to be known as “The FAN-tasticly Fast Five”. 20 long years…
What the hell do I do for 20 years? Oh yes, I must raise these half Chinese, half Korean, all American girls. I must make sure they get straight A’s in school, learn at least 3 musical instruments to world-class proficiency, and learn to hate all boys and men with penises. Oh, and of course, I must make sure they become world-class hoop masters.
But I’m getting a little bit ahead of myself here. Presently, my ball prodigies are just 4 years old, 2 years old, and 240 hours old. Collectively they weigh about as much as my left thigh. I must have patience in order to grow and nurture my seeds into the 190 IQ, hoop champions they are destined to become. To do that, I must teach them the raw basics of life success – like reading, enjoying non-organic foods, and hating all boys and men with penises. I know it will not be easy. Perhaps tonight, I will pray to the God of Tiger Dads for strength and guidance. Which means I will be praying to my wife.
Since I am not Mormon, I have but only one wife. And as such, the adults of my pride are now officially outnumbered by it’s cubs – 2 caretakers vs. 3 care-needers. To say things are busy in my household would be more than correct. But then again, when I had but one child, things were a bit nuts. Then with two kids, things got even more nuts. And now with three baby girls, I have no nuts. I am no longer a man but a servant. I have become the help. Help.
It’s strange. I’m nearly a 4-year veteran dad. I should know what I’m doing by now. But I don’t. Parenting is like an ever-changing riddle. What is the sound of one hand clapping? I’m sure you’ve heard that one before and it gives some mental pause, right? Now try this one – what is the sound of 3 hands clapping? OK, perhaps that was a little too esoteric to relate to. Maybe Dutch lore will clarify the fun madness that is now my so called life, 240 hours old - I have but two fingers to plug two holes, six feet apart, in a leaky dike only to find that a third hole just popped in between. I need another hand (or a really long nose or a really long…other thing).
But I will survive. Why? Because I love it. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. My baby-rave house party is thumpin’ 24/7 and closing time isn’t for a decade or two or three. So I will venture back into the “no-sleep” forest with a smile on my face and my spiritual boobs ready to be sucked dry. I will feed them, I will clothe them, and I will teach them to slice off any and all penises upon site (except mine, of course) with an effortless flick of their epi leather, Louis Vuitton clutch. Yes, I know my three are rather dinky right now and have crooked teeth (or no teeth at all), but I have faith that with enough Tiger Daddy-ing and Costco-based nutrition, my little girls will become NBA champions. Or just happy, well-adjusted, kind-hearted young ladies with flawless skin of alabaster. That would be nice too.
Wish me ruk.