Only this time, Squeak was out of the womb.
I tend to be something of a roughhouser when comes to being a dad. I like to throw kids in the air, carry them on my shoulders, run, play, and generally be a big kid.
Unfortunately, The Squeaker is a girl who doesn't enjoy roughhousing all that much.
Small tosses in the air? No thanks.
Sit on daddy's shoulders? Maybe tomorrow. But probably not.
Slide down a huge inflatable slide? No, sir. Uh-uh. No way. Nope. There is absolutely no freakin' way I am going down a slide that is at least 30x my size! Unless of course, you're going to force me.
And force I did.
With Squeaker tucked under one arm, we climbed up a faux rock wall, dangled precariously from a rope ladder, and crawled on knees and elbow to reach the slide.
Did Squeaker laugh with delight at the adventure her father had taken her on? No.
Did she babble with joy at the sight of a slide? She did not.
Instead, she cried.
She started crying on the faux rock wall, wailed on the rope ladder, and was practically apopolectic by the time we reached the top of the inflatable slide.
If your personality-type is determined during infancy, I think it's safe to say The Squeaker will be a girly-girl, wearing dresses and eating finger sandwiches while drinking tea with her little finger raised at a 90 degree angle from the china teacup.
Yeah... I have lots of dreams.