Dad Entry #143

Michael has a new war-cry: "I hate zits!" We're fast approaching an interesting phase. And Michael is 92 pounds now, according to Papa Mike, who proudly conducted a weigh-in last night, no doubt mimicking a sportscaster, or the ring announcer before a title fight. My son is pretty stout. I'm happy for him. And it's evenly distributed volume; he's tall, with feet that grow so fast I bet you can see them getting bigger if you just stare for a moment.

Megan told me yesterday that when she touched her right ear, it burned. That didn't sound good so I investigated. Her earring was stuck to her earlobe by an organic adhesive, I assumed, comprised of leaking, crusting, coagulating fluids. I went to work with Grandma. First, we removed the earring, which bubbled up, when dropped in peroxide, like a hot-tub when the jets kick on. Megan screamed when we touched her ear. There was blood. At one point Megan cried out, "I want Michael!" Michael joined us eventually, although I'm afraid only because he was curious about the commotion; I didn't sense compassion from him, which constantly irks me in matters between him and his little sister who unfailingly, unflinchingly, absolutely adores him. We cleaned and medicated Meg's ear, and then she shook, literally, shivering in my arms, afraid, anticipating more sharp pain which she probably felt when Grandma slipped the clean earring back in during another fit of hysteria. As I suspected, the offending accessory gets reinserted or the hole will close. For a moment, I thought, really, we're gonna put that thing back in?! Although, I know her ear won't turn gangrenous and fall off. Since I've never had any piercings, this was uncharted territory for me. Or, since I've never had a daughter with an infected piercing, this was uncharted territory for me. Or, there's just a lot of uncharted territory during fatherhood. Yeah, that one.

I was stealing veiled glimpses at Megan's grill the other day. Then I just said, "Honey, show me your teeth." Megan flashed a forced, toothy smile and I cringed. Then I kissed her forehead and lied, "Perfect and beautiful," to cover my honest reaction. Megan skipped away, light as a feather. She's still gorgeous and flawless, of course, but there's a storm brewin' and it's gonna be costly. Hurricane Orthodontia. Things aren't exactly looking like piano keys in there.