One of the mind-wobbling things about being a parent is getting to watch your kids’ strange personalities (and they are ALL strange) unfurl. Bill Cosby was so RIGHT, kids say some crazy shit. I’d love to have ALL of it on video, but these days, the best we can do to keep up with all of the ridiculous things that come out of Eleanor’s mouth is to record the gems on the Twitters, but honestly they’re the tip of the iceberg. A mammoth, icy block of nonsense floating around in her head that regularly gouges holes in the cruise liner of our days.

As it turns out, my baby girl is an insult comic. Yup, we got little Don Rickles laying it on us every day now. How did it come to this?

For a long time now Eleanor has been aware of the power of comedy. This should not be a surprise. The wife and I probably value humor over all other traits (which may explain why we’re always broke). So naturally, Eleanor gets the best reactions from Mommy & Daddy when she does something funny.

Unfortunately, this has recently backfired on us, as Eleanor has discovered the bluer side of comedy.

Eleanor: “You’re a poopy!” (slow grin)
Me: “What?!”
Eleanor: (maniacal laughter) “You’re a poopy poop!”

That’s right. I’ve spent literally YEARS cleaning her dirty diapers, and I’M the poopy poop. So okay, I really don’t mind being a poopy poop. In fact, I think it’s pretty hilarious that we gave birth to Triumph the insult comic dog, but not everybody finds this dialogue as charming as we do. Visions of her adolescence are starting to concern me:

Eleanor’s first boyfriend: “I.. I just wanted you to know.. I love you.”
E: “Pansy. Wanna get some ice cream?”

God, that sounds eerily familiar.