Superhero Lovechild

It is a plausible theory that my children were actually fathered by Mr. Fantastic of the Fantastic Four. He is the guy with a super rubbery body which doesn’t seem like much of a super power until everyone is locked in a room and he squeezes under the doorway. I’ve needed that power in a parking lot more than once. Anyway, part of his elastic superpowers must have been passed to his illegitimate half-breed children that I am now helping raise.

I suspected this infidelity at the very first birth. In fact, the first few seconds of this child’s life. I didn’t think I wanted to watch the big moment but when it came around I couldn’t look away. The doctor stumbles in fresh from his nap, slaps on some gloves and plops down in the rolling stool. “Here comes the head.”, he announces with all the excitement of a teenage girl at a family reunion. I’m glad he pointed out what I was looking at because I thought it was a furry bag full of Gameboy cartridges. There were edges and depressions, a real moonscape. That thing wasn’t even close to round. Sure enough she popped out and popped into place like a transformer, like an unfolding piece of vaginal origami. This seemed really odd to me but the doctor assured me it was normal. I’m sure he was paid off by Mr. Fantastic.

Note: People say birth is beautiful. False. It may be miraculous or interesting or emotional but it isn’t beautiful.

Things went pretty smoothly for a while but each seemingly scary injury would turn out to be nothing. I personally witnessed child One close all her fingers in a door that latched. I panicked like any good parent would and immediately thought, “How will she learn to count with only six fingers? Good thing we aren’t on the metric system. What kind of nicknames would the other kids give her? Mittens? Would she accidentally hitchhike when she tried to wave at passing motorists?”. It was a really weird reaction but I just witnessed a set of fingers get chopped so don’t judge me from some ten-fingered moral high ground. When I sprung the door the fingers were red but all still attached. Amazing.

Another time I witnessed her running circles around the living room. I had barely let out the warning against running when, of course, she trips. The velocity towards the couch and the angle that she fell was perfect. Her face connected with the bottom edge of the couch and bent her head backwards while her body fell flat on the floor. Her neck was bent at a nearly perfect ninety degree angle for a good two seconds. My heart stopped immediately and I once again thought horribly inappropriate things. My mind screamed at me that I had broken my child. Once again, like the terminator rising from the dead, she rolled over and snapped back into place no worse for the wear. Now it is getting creepy.

The icing on the cake is her weird “trick”. I learned about this trick while discussing my manly past. I was showing the girls how my ring finger bends backward at the middle joint, a byproduct of a harrowing flag football injury. I also got a broken rib from the very same gladiator level game. The only interesting byproduct of that injury is a requirement to sleep on my right side. Probably should get that checked. Back on track – child One was unimpressed with my free range finger and boldly stated, “That’s nothing daddy watch this.” She stood straight up and turned her left foot inward continuously until it was a full 180 degrees out of place. I know it has been a while since geometry for most of you so a refresher on 180 degrees. The. Opposite. Direction. If her brain told both feet to walk she would just spin. That was enough evidence for me.

My lawyer is filing the necessary papers and that silly putty bastard better be ready with my sweet cash. I’ve seen the movie and I know he is wealthy. I just want a piece for raising what is obviously his child.

Mr. Fantastic, if you are reading this we can settle out of court. Superhero to semi-hero.

To the other parents who suspect that you have been fooled by this home wrecker. The evidence is in. You’re welcome.

Underdaddy to the rescue.


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