Ben Sloot

My daughter discovered a new passion. On a hot day, Charlie combined the joy of a plastic slide ride with a shocking dip on to a hose powered splash pad.

I arrived home from work to find the toddler butt naked, save for her ever-present Crocs, joyously screeching as my wife (MY WIFE!) supervised the kiddo’s ascent up to the top of the slide and plummet down in to the frigid water.

“She must have done this 200 time,” my wife (MY WIFE!) said.

Every time seemed like Charlie’s first time.

“You’re turn,” my wife (MY WIFE!) was already through the door in to the air conditioned house.

I mimicked the supervisory duties trying to match the laissez fair attitude, but when the toddler get’s tired she becomes less and less stable. Instinctively my hands hovered behind her back as she climbed the ladder and awkwardly squeezed her legs underneath her butt to get situated on top of the slide.

Charlie barreled down the red plastic and in to the water, none the wiser of my anxiety or hyper awareness, nor my preparedness to catch her at any second.

But that’s being a dad, right? Worry you’re doing the right things, planning for the worst, and being ready to catch a kid who might be overestimate their abilities. In the best case scenario, she’ll never even consider anything but the shrill inducing joy of being a kid… and I’ll just be a nervous wreck for no reason.