I’ve been a stay-at-home dad since my daughter was born. My job only pays hugs and kisses, which is plenty if you ask me. I get to spend priceless time with my little girl and watch her grow. But it can be demanding. Her mother is a high school math teacher and leaves for work around 6:45 every morning. With nobody else to help out, some days challenge my sanity. Days like today.

            Three hours to go. It’s only 8:00 and I am out of ideas. Since breakfast, we’ve already read a few stories, colored in her coloring book, played hide-and-seek, and built a fort out of blankets. I’m sorry to say, she’s not in the mood to entertain herself. She wants attention. Now.

            My body is still heavy from lack of sleep. My daughter, of course, got a full ten hours last night. Unlike some of us, she wasn’t awake into the wee hours of the morning finishing a lengthy research paper that’s due this afternoon. Being a parent as well as a full-time college student often leaves sleep last on the list. I flip on the Today Show and fall facedown onto the couch, hoping for just one minute of stillness.

            Zada is her name. She’s my 18-month-old boss, and she wants me off the couch. Her right hand firmly grips my index finger and her left is wrapped around my thumb. She’s grunting and pulling me as hard as her tiny frame will allow. Zada is a stranger to subtlety.

            “Mommeeee!” she whines in her high-pitched voice. Now, she knows perfectly well who I am. I’m Daddy. It’s just that Zada is new to talking, and the word “Mommy” also means, “I want something.” In this case, she wants me to get up. It rarely bothers me that she only calls out “Mommy.” Sometimes it’s cute. Other times, it’s not.

            Like last Wednesday, when she and I were at the library for Toddler Story Time. I was the lone dad in a room full of stay-at-home moms and their little ones. In the middle of Green Eggs & Ham, Zada clambered out of my lap, pointed to the door, and said longingly, “Mommy!” She was ready to go. But the women exchanged worried glances, and one whispered to another, “Poor girl, she wants her mommy!” You don’t get it, Lady. I redirected Zada’s attention to the story and put her back in my lap. She was fine after that, but the reputation of every stay-at-home dad had just suffered a minor blow.

            This is what I’m thinking about as she tries to pull me off the couch. She gives one last tug, then forfeits her grip, completely defeated. Time for a new strategy. She sticks out her lower lip. Collapses to the floor. Plants her face in her hands. And cries her, “I don’t have what I want” cry, which sounds like a cat caught in the rain.

            Experts will tell you not to give in to temper tantrums. But the sound of that cry is about as pleasant as a third-degree burn, so I regretfully surrender. “Okay, Baby, you win. What do you wanna do?” I mutter, as my body oozes off the couch. Her round, brown eyes are shiny from tears. God, I wonder if she’ll always be this dramatic. Zada extends her arms upward, pleading to be picked up and held. I oblige.

            Two hours to go until naptime. Or as I call it, break time. On days like today, I don’t think of time like everybody else does. I consider how much time is left until Zada takes her nap. Mostly, I try to take advantage of her being asleep by catching up on homework. Or a good chunk of naptime might be spent pulling crayons from the fish tank. Some days I even get to lie down and do nothing. Either way, I like naptime.

            “Hey, Zada, do you wanna stack your blocks?”
            “Nnno!” she replies, shaking her head back and forth.
            “Okay…” my foot nudges her big pink ball as I try to sound excited. “Let’s play with your ball!”
            “Nnno!” Her statement has a stinger on the end. It’s obvious she’s not interested in anything that involves her feet touching the floor.

            “All right, Zada. We’re going for a stroll.” I’m no longer in the mood to haggle. Maybe the tone of my voice made that clear, because she patiently lets me change her from pajamas into her yellow onesie and jeans. I strap her into the stroller, and we head out the door.

            Yep. I showed her.

            As we mosey up the block, we cross paths with a small, white-haired woman. She smiles when she sees Zada. Old ladies always smile at my daughter, with her strawberry blonde hair that curls up in the back.

            “Are you having fun today?” she asks cheerfully. I assume she isn’t talking to me.

            “Yeah,” I answer for Zada. “She likes to be outside.”

            “I bet she does. And it sure is nice for you to take her and give her mommy a break.”

            “Right.” I get that a lot. “Well, have a good day.”

            One hour left. I retreat back to the couch as Zada wanders off to the other room. I’ve learned to treasure these moments of silence, and take full advantage. I prop my feet up and close my eyes. Just for a second…

            I haven’t been this tired since I picked my brother up from the airport at 3:00 in the morning. By the time I got home, Zada was awake and ready to play. I was exhausted for the entire day, and I knew if my brother asked me for the favor again, I’d tell him no. Although, I admit our conversation may have influenced me to feel that way.

            “Thanks for picking me up,” he said.“Hey, you’re welcome. What are brothers for?”

            “Well, I was going to ask one of my buddies, but you’re the only person I know who doesn’t have to get up early and work in the morning.” I ignored his remark, partly because it was too late for debate, and partly because I had already heard this sentiment from a lot of guys I know. I just chuckled to myself and thought, Man, if you only knew.

            Suddenly, I shoot off the couch, unsure how long I’ve been asleep. The quiet of the house echoes in my ears. Where is she? “Zada? Zada?” I dash from living room to kitchen to bathroom to bedroom. I’m calling her name, desperately listening for any sound. Where the hell is she? I run into my room. And there she is.

            Zada is sitting on the floor, wearing a smile. Finding her safe and sound is nice, but my relief is short-lived when I see what she’s done. My backpack has been unzipped, and its contents scattered about the floor. She has found my red permanent marker and colored the wall, the bed, my books, my research paper, her clothes, her hands, her tongue, and her face.

            “Since when do you know how to use a zipper?” She replies by holding up the marker and smiling even wider with a face that says, “Look what I can do, Daddy!” Yeah, Zada. I noticed.

            “ Your mommy is gonna flip when she sees this.”
            “ Mommy?”
            “ All right, Zada. Bath time.” I’ll worry about the other stuff later. My back whines in pain as she happily bounces around the tub. I’m on my knees, trying to wash the red streaks from my daughter’s face and hands. I pull her out, dry her off, and put a new diaper on her. I dress her in clean clothes and brush her hair.

            Naptime! When I give her the good news, Zada makes a break for it, but I snatch her up and plop her in my lap for a story. To my surprise, she doesn’t resist. She seems content to sit quietly and listen to the story. Then I smell it. Just as I notice the foul odor, Zada looks at me with an undeniably smug expression that says, “Looks like naptime will have to wait, won’t it?”

            I change her load, and return to the rocking chair. “Nice try, Zada. But filling your diaper won’t keep you up any longer. It’s naptime, Baby Girl, and Daddy needs it as much as you do.” I finish the story and rock her a bit. She’s almost asleep, and I’m about to lay her in her crib. Just before I do, she lifts her hand and touches my face. She raises her head and gives me a small kiss on the cheek.

            Okay. Maybe I’ll hold you a little longer…