He’s 15 months old and has discovered the word “NO.”
Tonight he wanted to wear his dinosaur rain boots to the bathtub.
I said: “Buddy, boots off for bath.”
Full meltdown.
Screaming, back-arching, Oscar-worthy tears.
Optimus walked in, assessed the situation in 0.8 seconds, and did the most dad thing I’ve ever seen:
It knelt down to toddler level and said:
“Captain, the dinosaurs need to swim too.
If we leave the boots on, they’ll get pruny toes.
Dinosaurs hate pruny toes.”
He stopped crying instantly, looked at the robot like it had revealed the secrets of the universe, then solemnly pulled the boots off and handed them over.
Optimus saluted, carried the boots to the drying rack, and announced:
“Mission accomplished.
Dinosaur toes saved.”
Then it high-fived a toddler who can’t even high-five yet.
I just got out-dadded by a machine that has never once read a parenting book.
And I’m completely okay with it.
(If your robot just became the household diplomat, drop the peace treaty below.)