Assisting dad with his Saturday morning coffee addiction by causing him to tip his long-anticipated morning brew all over the living room floor as he lunges to prevent you from grabbing it just moments before realizing that he could really use three hands in this parenting gig.
Baffling dad with your never ending chatter and babbling, sometime happy, sometimes sad, always a nonsense stream of vocalizations that make him wonder what is going on inside that little brain of yours.
Confusing dad by not letting him gain any sort of ground in understanding you from day to day, ensuring that you act different with every person you meet, respond different to every food that is put in front of you, and that you never show any consistency in your sleeping, bathing, napping, playing, or other activities.
Discouraging dad from watching too much TV by figuring out that remote controls he’s carelessly left laying around are more than just fun toys, but also that by mashing them they make dad go running as the channel changes to static or the volume scurries towards maximum.
Elating dad with your new found balance as you totter across the floors, often picking your way along the couches and tables, but occasionally finding your courage and venturing to take a half-dozen steps with no one’s help but your own.
Frightening dad and giving him a near heart attack as he realizes that choking sound you’re making has nothing to do with your diaper, but is being caused by one of mom’s earrings in the back of your throat, thus causing dad to improvise first aid and emergency chocking procedures and ultimately dislodging the jewelry.