When I had my first daughter. Beautiful with meaning
When I had my first daughter, I didn’t understand anything. Then my friends had children, including boys, of course. And then I had my second daughter, and then I realized. I realized that I had knowledge that was unknown to the boys’ fathers.
So, what I learned as a dad of girls:
That when she says, “Mommy is beautiful and Daddy is prickly,” then, contrary to logic, you want to be beautiful too. At least, you want her to think so.
That choosing underpants in gnomes or butterflies is a difficult and important choice every morning. And that if you don’t have the right gnome underwear, your whole day can be ruined.
That you know how to braid. And it happened somehow by itself.
That sooner or later you will have your nails painted. Get over it and accept it like a man. You just have to accept it. There is no escape anyway.
That, despite the C’s in your school essays, you have a truly bottomless imagination for affectionate names. “Zephyrka”, “bell”, “fluffy paws” and “lamp” are just the beginning.
That when she says “daddy” and smiles, at that moment you are ready to give her absolutely everything: money, an apartment, a car, and your last shirt. It’s good that she doesn’t know about it.
That when she comes to you in the morning, with her blanket, and hugs you with her small, chubby arms, you realize that this is love forever.
That, despite years of daily observation of them since childhood, you still don’t understand women, but you know for sure that without them your life means nothing.
