I detest twirling, I spaz out at spinning, and I regurgitate at the thought of rotating. Yes, I do not do well at going round-and-round, since I get dizzy just thinking about it. I don't even like to watch other people going round-and-round. When the kids ask me to play Ring Around the Rosy, I get about half way around the circle before I do a preemptive "falling down", thereby keeping myself from getting physically ill all over the kids' flip-flops. For some reason they haven't asked me to play Ring Around the Rosy for a long time...
I am telling you all this to make my actions from the other day seem even more heroic than they really were, which is always a good enough reason as far as I'm concerned. We were at the Great Minnesota Get Together, otherwise known as the State Fair, the biggest conglomeration of weird people in the Upper Midwest, if you don't include the state of Iowa (Just kidding to all my Iowa fans! I only tease you all because I know you can take it! I hope...). We were in the Kidway, which is a small area filled with rides made for young kids, aged 8 and under. Since we had already spent an enormous amount of money on all variations of fried food on a stick, we only bought so many tickets for our kids to use on the rides. Thankfully none of our kids got their dad's queeziness gene, so they all were eager to go.
Then it happened. The Little One wanted to go on the merry-go-round, which has been a staple in all of our kids' lives since they were little. I have never minded, because I always get a front row seat with my butt firmly planted on solid ground while the Wife gets on the merry-go-round with the kids. That was going to be the scenario this time, too, until the ride attendant rudely told the Wife that she was too pregnant to get on. The nerve of some people! The Wife hadn't even told him she was pregnant! Isn't it rude to assume something like that?
Since we were unable to conceal the baby any longer, I decided it was time for me to step up to the plate. Time to strap on my boots and hitch up my britches, if that's a saying. And it was time to find a barf bag, you know, just in case. Because it was time for me to climb aboard that merry-go-round and do what a daddy is supposed to do: whatever it takes to keep my child from throwing a tantrum at the State Fair. It worked.