I'll never forget the look on my daddy's face when I told my parents I was pregnant with Birdie.
As my mother jumped around doing what can only be described as some psychotic troll dance complete with giddy squeals, my poor daddy just stood there. His eyes glazed over...he had just realized that some guy (my husband of three years) had knocked up his baby girl.
It was early October 2008 and I wasn't really ready to spill the beans, but the fact that I could no longer hold down Sprite and Saltines was making it more than a little difficult to hide. Not to mention the fact that it was homecoming Sunday at church (all you good little Methodists and Baptists know that means potluck lunch) and all I could manage to put on my plate was a yeast roll.
He stood there silent for a few seconds, staring into space, no doubt thinking of ways to murder my husband for doing this to his only daughter. I made the mistake of asking him, "Daddy, are you okay?" To which he replied, "I feel like somebody hit me in the head with a big rock." Don't southern men have a way with words?
When I see "Grumps" with my little girl, I can only imagine how excited he must have been when I came into this world. In his eyes, Birdie hung the moon and stars and can do absolutely no wrong. Looking back now, I'm sure he'd change his answer to something slightly more eloquent!
He will still figure out a way to get him back. I didn't like it much when it was my daughter but wo be the infidel that touches any of my grand daughters.
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