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February 5, 2016

These babies are 8 1/2 months old and I’m pretty sure they’re getting a handle on who’s who.  They’ve figured out my wife is Mommy.  That’s a pretty easy one.  They were inside of her for 39 weeks and when they got out they were thrown at her boobs pretty quickly.  If they didn’t catch on to who she was, I’d be concerned that they were either morons or just playing on her insecurity.  They spend over 100 hours a week with her.

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(I know the breast, but I can’t quite place the face)

They’ve figured out who the girl is who runs the daycare.  She’s the awfully nice lady who lets them play with all her toys and seems to have way too many children for just one person.  They might think that was irresponsible of her but they turn a blind eye because she’s fun and it’s a great place to spend the day and unwind.  They spend at least 30 hours a week with her.

I think they’ve even got a handle on the dog.  He’s the hairy one, so he must be Italian.  The long thing that swings sticking out of his ass hilariously knocks over their bottles of formula and his affectionate licks to their faces gives them the early advantage of knowing what it’s like to be waterboarded.  He’s always there, so like Mommy he spends close to 100 hours with them.

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(See this thing?  It’s pure comedic gold!)

Then there’s me.  During the week I come home from work between 7:30 and 8pm and they go to bed by 9.  They see me again from around 7-8am in the morning. That’s 12.5 hours from Monday through Friday.  Who the hell am I?  I don’t think they have any clue and I spend more time wondering who the hell they think I am, than I spend in their actual presence.

They have no clue.  Sure, Charles is always quick to give me a smile but he’ll grin at the mailman, the cashier at Von’s, a squirrel he sees out the window or a favorite toy.  A few days ago I saw him staring at a chair with a delightfully happy gaze.  This kid is making lemonade from lemons so the fact that he smiles at me doesn’t convince me he’s thinking “Daddy” when he looks at me.

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(Hey there, stranger!)

And of course Arthur looks at me with the same contempt as someone side glancing a person sitting too close to them on the subway. Not only is he unaware of who I am, he seems unsure if it’s a good idea to have me around so much on the weekends.

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(Daddy?  No, never heard of him)

I assume they have brains and can think.  The doctor clearly would have told us if they didn’t.  So they must be wondering what my deal is.  Here’s my best guess at what their guesses are when it comes to who I actually am.

  1. The Direct TV Guy

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I can see them thinking this. I spend a lot of time in front of the TV and I’m constantly manually changing it from HDMI1 to HDMI2 for Netflix purposes.  It stands to reason that I’m the cable guy testing out things extensively to make sure they’re working.  I’ll go so far to make sure the cable is working that I’ll even stay and watch a full episode of MasterChef Junior.  If they think I’m the cable guy then they have to be impressed with my dedication and thoroughness.

2. An Annoying Neighbor Overstaying His Welcome

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This is very possible.  I walk in the door like I own the place. I’m loud and regularly annoy Mommy by asking if there’s anything in the house to eat.  They’re probably thinking, “Goddamn, this guy never leaves.  He’s still here when we go to sleep.  Poor, Mommy.”

3. An Underwear Model

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(This isn’t me.  I have hair.)

This one is a stretch.  They probably have no concept of professions.  However if they do know what a job is then there’s a chance this is what they think I do.  I walk around the house in my underwear at least half they time they see me, so it might stand to reason that I’m working.  Does Lane Bryant have a men’s section?

4. A More Advanced Baby

This one isn’t a stretch at all.  I’m bigger but we are proportionally about the same right down to our body mass index.  (See the photo above)  If this is the case they have to admire how I can make a sandwich for myself and seem to never need a diaper change.

I should start wearing matching outfits to confuse them.

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I have no idea when they’ll actually figure out my real identity but for the moment at least I carry a little bit of intrigue.  Soon enough, like Mommy, they’ll figure out who I am and that I only eat three different foods and tell the same ten stories, so maybe I shouldn’t complain. Mystery might be the only thing I have going for me.

Least Favorite Child Results

January 31 – Least Favorite is Charles.  He’s started to crawl constantly and climb anything he can.  It makes me appreciate that Arthur is still a low maintenance yet cute rock.

February 1 – Least Favorite is Charles.  When a baby decides he’s going to roll over during a diaper change the result is often an earth toned Jackson Pollack painting on a changing table.  I guess I don’t appreciate art.

February 2 – Least Favorite is Arthur.  When I got home, I fed him, changed him and put him to bed.  There was no shortage of dirty or judgmental looks during every step of the process.

February 3 – Least Favorite is Charles.  He continues to think Arthur is just another toy in the play area.  He loves the crying sound effect the toy makes when he pulls his hair.

February 4 – Least Favorite is Charles.  He might become a dentist.  When I looked in the play area he had one hand in Arthur’s mouth and the other pulling his mouth wide.  He was probably the first to discover Arthur has a tooth.

Total Days As Least Favorite Child

Charles – 100

Arthur – 93

Days Tied – 1

Days Since Neil Patrick Harris received my post and hasn’t responded – 187

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