Someone asked why the title of this blog is, "Triumph of a Man Called Da-da." First off, it's pronounced, "DAA-DAA." Secondly, Da-da informed the inquirer, a young and unmarried non-child-laden scale model of Hugh Hefner, that the title on his business card is, "DA-DA," CEO to the small, the loud, the diaper-challenged. You've heard women say -- and Da-da will affirm -- that it's The Hardest Job in the World. It's also The Best Job. And the The Worst Job. Basically, it's somewhere between Christmas and being roasted alive.
Those few born before 1979 may recall the movie, "A Man Called Horse," with a young Dumbledore... er, Richard Harris... as well as its many sequels ("Triumph of A Man Called Horse," "Complete Flaccid Collapse of A Man Called Horse," "Radioactive Underpants of a Man Called Horse," etc.). Anyway, being a parent is very much like the Native American ritual featured in said film, pictured above, where the supplicant -- of his own free will -- hangs painfully for hours and hours and hours and hours in a hot sweaty stinky room from a long sharpened horse bone inserted beneath the skin of the supplicant's chest until he either passes out or has an OOB experience and someone has to stab him in the back with a spear to wake him up. But in a GOOD way.
Being a parent is like that every single day.
Anyone who tells you different is rich and has 10 helpers. Or is selling something.
In truth, EVERY DAY you survive as a parent is a triumph. Those of you with easy children... thank your lucky stars. In the meantime, Da-da will be hanging around...