After a few weeks of being called Poo-poo by my own family, I think I finally made a breakthrough with Emma. I was putting Emma to bed and decided to have a calm, peaceful talk with her.
"Hi, Emma -- my sweet, little darling girl," I cooed to her.
"Hi, Daddy," answered my sweet, little darling girl.
"Sometimes it's not nice to call people names like Poo-poo. I know you think it's funny to call Daddy, Poo-poo, but it's not very nice," I explained using all of my skills as a fantastic father.
"Oooooookay," said my sweet, little darling girl.
"So," I said with trepidation. "Let's try this one more time. Mommy is the..."
"Best!"
"And..." Here goes nothing! "Daddy is the..."
"Best!" exclaimed my super sweet, little darling girl.
See! A breakthrough. All it took was a little patience and child psychology.
"I love you, Emma," I sighed with relief.
"I love you, Poo-poo," said my super bitter little devious girl.
"What?" I said taken aback. "Emma, you're suppose to say, 'I love you, Daddy.'"
"I love you, Poooo-poooo!"
"No. You say, 'I love you, Daddy.'"
"I love YOU, POO-POO!" This time she snorted a laugh.
"Emma. Say, 'I love you, DADDY.'"
"I love Poo-poo!" This sounded even stranger.
After several failed attempts, Emma grew bored with my pathetic determination. She just sat up in her crib, gave a sigh, and said, "No, Daddy. I don't want to say dat."
At the very least, I can now appreciate the humor in this situation after downing several bottles of wine and crying myself to sleep.
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