I don’t talk about Zoe much. However, recently she’s taken to saying what I consider to be her first word, and she says it ever time she sees me. “DADADADADADADADADADADADADA!” I consider this to be a high watermark in my dadding career, and an absolute validation of the critical role that a father plays in his children’s lives. High five. Her mother, though, is understandably upset, in the vein of “I carried you in my womb for 270 days, consumed approximately 6 ounces of alcohol during that entire long 9 months, let you ravage my boobs, wiped the oxygenated guacamole-looking shit from your ass, held you when you went on your shrieking jags every two hours, replaced numerous nice shirts due to your vomiting all over them, and you don’t even thank me with a MAMA.”

To this, Zoe says: