First off, let me make one thing abundantly clear. There was never a question as to whether or not I was Nugget’s father. Even if there had been questions, they would have been quickly squashed by the fact that she’s got the stark blonde-but-almost-white hair inherited from my side, her eye shape (and color) are definitely mine, and she’s got similar sleeping patterns. But, really, who truly enjoys the hours of the day before 10am?
Okay, everyone raising your hands, you can stop lying. Nobody’s going to judge you for it.
Anyway, there was an incident recently that, had there actually been questions, they would have been blown out of the water. We had gone out for a little fast food (mmmm Smashburger) and, when that happens, we tend to indulge Nugget by allowing her to have some french fries. We’re also making sure she’s getting some burger, and we always always always bring along other foods for her, so it’s not like we’re just allowing our daughter to stuff handfuls of grease into her mouth. So picture our little family sitting down to dinner, with Nugget contentedly chowing down on her french fries (with a delight that few non-toddlers can match, while muttering “fies” over and over again).
During the dinner, HawtWife decided that she would try an experiment, and dipped a piece of Nugget’s fries into a little ranch dressing. This was offered to Nugget, who looked at it like it was somehow now covered in poison, and she clearly shouldn’t trust us. Tentatively, with furrowed brow, she placed the fry into her mouth. The next instant was filled with a slightly more confused look, followed immediately by sheer joy. The rest of the meal was spent trying in vain to keep the ranch dressing out of Nugget’s reach, because she was going crazy trying to dip the rest of her fries into it. When she ran out of fries, she just moved to fingers, which seemed to be a good substitute (and, thankfully, we didn’t reprise the broccoli soup incident where she was so excited to eat it, she dipped her hand and bit herself).
Now, I will be one of the first to admit that I have an unhealthy relationship with ranch dressing. I dip far too many things in it, and I put it on an inordinate number of salads. It’s not the only dressing I’ll eat, but it is far and away my favorite. It’s kind of like I’ve decided that I’m going to make healthy things as unhealthy as possible, much to HawtWife’s chagrin. Well, in that one instance, Nugget clearly showcased that she is a bit like her father in the realm of ranch dressing, because now when it’s offered to her (which is rarely), she’ll just stick her spoon in like it’s one of her fruit cups.
I mean, she’s got some of her mother’s taste buds, too. I mean, I dislike egg salad and avocado, and Nugget thinks both are pretty great. But the ranch incident? That’s all me. I don’t know if I should be proud or worried.
Let’s be honest. I should probably be both. That’s kind of been the story of the last 18 months anyway.