Eventually, Every Dad is a Doofus Dad

Sometimes I’m a complete doofus of a dad. The extreme doofus type of dad that’s usually reserved for TV commercials and sitcoms. I try my best not to fall into the stereotype, but every once in a while it’s inevitable.

The other day I was getting our kids ready to go swimming at the community center. As I gathered up suits and towels, I realized I wasn’t sure which suit actually fit my youngest daughter. I noticed several swimsuits that had potential to fit her, two of them didn’t even have traditional sizes (like 2T, 3T etc.) listed, they said numbers like 80 and 110 instead. Suddenly it felt like a Goldilocks story, I knew one was too small, one was too big and one was just right. After a series of picture texts of different suits to my wife, she figured out for me the correct suit that would fit my daughter. That was doofus strike one.

Once we made it to the indoor pool (with correct swimsuits in hand) I wasn’t unable to put my two-year-old’s swimsuit on her. I’m not sure if anyone else has had this problem, but I know it’s not the first time I’ve struggled with this. It seems simple, a one-piece swimsuit with straps crossed at the back. But here’s the problem, I could never get it on her correctly. The straps were never where they were supposed to be after I pulled it up from her feet and the suit wasn’t stretchy enough to force the straps in the correct position over her head, believe me, I tried. Finally, after four attempts, my oldest daughter came into the locker room to see what was taking so long and put it on her the correct way, the first time. Must be a girl thing.

Doofus strike two.

While we were swimming, I noticed my daughter’s diaper getting larger and larger by the minute. Unknowingly, I put a pull-up diaper on her instead of a swim diaper. So after only twenty minutes in the pool, she looked like a member of the Kardashian family, her rear end was twice the size of the rest of her body. The diaper slowly continued to expand over the course of an hour. Our adventure ended when the diaper finally exploded into a million little gel bits on the locker room floor.

Strike three. Doofus dad is out!


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