Eating (the wrong kind of) Wings

A 'Fucked Up Moments in Fatherhood' Mini

When our daughter was still unable to crawl, I plopped her on her butt down in our basement while I rearranged my little rocknroll studio I call “The Thunder Dungeon.”

As I set up my drums, moved my variety of guitar and bass amps from here to there, and positioned my homemade sound-deadening baffles (pallets wrapped in moving blankets, btw), she sat patiently in the corner, watching my every move.

For a few moments, my attention was turned wholly away from her as I set my drum hardware perfectly to my liking. When I turned back, she was chewing on something.

I don’t remember bringing any snacks down here I thought.

As I got closer to inspect, I noticed a small wing sticking out of the side of her mouth. I jammed my finger in her mouth and pried the snack loose from her toothless gums, only to look down and notice a tiny, dead, chewed-up cockroach in my hand.

I think it was dead before she started eating it. I think.