Who’s the Boss? | Life With a Baby Who Runs the House

Parenting an Infant Who Knows Exactly What She Wants—

Have you ever felt like your baby is trying to condition you?
Sounds ridiculous, I know. After all, every parent of an infant understands that in the early days, the baby is the one who sets the household schedule, and everything revolves around them at all times.

Still, there’s something else entirely about a baby who identifies a parent’s weaknesses, zeroes in on them, and decides to exploit them for her own enjoyment. It may seem charming at first, but seasoned parents know this can quickly turn into a reality that’s far from simple.

Sarah is exactly that kind of baby. Controlling, manipulative, shamelessly cunning—someone who knows how to play, without a trace of guilt, on the soft heart of her loving father, and who pushes the boundaries a little further every single day.

When I put Sarah to bed and then turn to my own affairs, it feels like she takes pure pleasure in summoning me over and over again: dropping her pacifier, making teasing little sounds in my direction—the trained monkey—and demanding that I come yet again to put the pacifier back in her mouth.

Every time I do, I’m almost certain I catch a mischievous, taunting smile spread across her round face. I know—it sounds adorable and sweet, like a game she’s inviting her father to play along with. But when she does it at night, when you’re already desperate for a bit of quiet, you realize this is a real test of character. Sometimes it feels like she’s actually waiting for the exact moment my head hits the pillow before calling me back.

Nighttime, Singing, and Standing Only

Speaking of nighttime—has it ever happened to you that a three-month-old baby wakes up at two in the morning and, without any formal invitation or prior warning, decides to break into song? Or something resembling it.
Maybe Sarah thinks nighttime is the perfect moment to rehearse for auditions for American Idol, or some similar reality show where babies get a stage to showcase their talents.

If that’s her intention—fine. But Sarah is clever enough to know that her loud “singing” could easily wake the rest of the household, who might enjoy the performance during the day but would strongly prefer silence at night. So why does she do it? Because she knows that her father, in order to avoid awkwardness with the rest of the family, will get out of bed and pick her up. Apparently, that’s the only way to stop her from demonstrating her skills as an aspiring vocalist.

Since it’s the middle of the night and you’re obviously not at your best, you’ll probably try to rock Sarah while sitting on the edge of the bed. A grave mistake.
Sarah, without a shred of infant mercy, immediately launches into full-volume screaming, far more piercing than her “singing.” This is her way of signaling that she is to be held only while standing, or else.

So, in order to protect the family’s sleep, you comply and begin pacing around the house in the middle of the night, while the boss herself waits patiently to see if you’ll crack and dare to sit down.

Food, Choirs, and Discipline

Another way Sarah challenges her aging father is through complete control over how she’s fed. From her exalted position in the household hierarchy, Sarah is no longer satisfied with sitting in a standard position and having the bottle nipple placed in her mouth. Absolutely not. She now demands a full entertainment program along with her meal.

Sound unbelievable? You’re welcome to attend the regular ritual the miniature boss has instituted in our home, where everyone present is required to sing together:
“If You’re Happy and You Know It, clap your hands…”
No singing—no food.

Once, it was enough for only the person feeding her to sing. Now she demands a full choir, and heaven help anyone who dares to sing off-key.

Speaking of food—just to further challenge us, every so often Sarah arbitrarily decides that her usual feeding spot has become boring and refuses to eat. Only after the choir is completely exhausted and we realize that the problem isn’t the entertainment do we attempt a change of location. Then, and only then, does Her Majesty express her satisfaction by finally eating.

With each passing day, Sarah fortifies her status as the supreme ruler of the household, especially since discovering she has a voice. At first, when she wanted attention or when something displeased her, she simply cried. Today, whenever she wants one of her subjects to rush to their queen on demand, she raises her voice in a way that leaves no room for refusal. After all, who would dare disobey the queen?

Why does she do this? Some people are simply born to rule. Sarah is one of them. Nietzsche divided humanity into masters and slaves; Sarah, now four months old, decided from day one which side she belongs to.

At first it was incredibly cute and sweet, and I accepted everything with love. Today it’s simply part of our family reality. I’ve learned to live with every demand and whim, no matter how absurd or petty it may be. And yes, I’d be lying if I said I no longer enjoy serving my little queen—perhaps now more than ever. With each passing day, my love for her grows stronger, along with my sense of responsibility.

I know there are those who would say I don’t set boundaries. That my total surrender to Sarah proves I’m weak-willed, and that my soft behavior is inviting an increasingly difficult life.
Tell me something I don’t know.

But as long as it doesn’t seem that bad to me, and Sarah is enjoying her elevated status, I’ll keep going along with my little boss, who shows me time and again—like an experienced marine biologist—showing me, as we say, exactly where the fish pees.

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Read Next

If you’d like to read more about Sara and our life together, here are two more posts you might enjoy:

Am i Madonna’s Dad?

A Troubling Future

Beyond the Blog

Alongside this blog, I also give talks about late fatherhood, surrogacy, and the emotional journey of becoming a parent later in life.

3 comments

  1. What I enjoyed most about this post is that it captures something every parent recognizes but rarely admits out loud: babies have an astonishing ability to train their parents.

    The humor is the post’s greatest strength. By describing Sarah as a tiny tyrant, a queen, and the undisputed ruler of the household, you turn ordinary parenting moments into entertaining stories. The dropped pacifier, the midnight “concerts,” and the requirement that everyone participate in a feeding-time choir are all situations that many parents will recognize, yet you present them with enough exaggeration and self-awareness to make them genuinely funny.

    I particularly liked the image of the father as a “trained monkey” repeatedly summoned to replace a pacifier. It’s a simple moment, but it perfectly captures the strange power dynamic that develops between a helpless infant and the exhausted adult who serves her every need.

    Another strength of the piece is that beneath the comedy lies a clear expression of love. The reader never truly believes Sarah is manipulative or controlling. In fact, every accusation functions as a declaration of affection. The more dramatic your descriptions become, the more obvious it is that you are completely captivated by your daughter.

    The section about nighttime singing was especially effective because it transforms a common parenting frustration into a playful fantasy. Comparing a three-month-old baby’s noises to rehearsals for a talent show creates a vivid and amusing image, while the rule that she must only be held while standing is something many parents will immediately relate to.

    What also works well is the narrative voice. The self-deprecating humor prevents the post from feeling like a list of complaints. Instead, it reads like a father laughing at his own willingness to surrender to a tiny human who weighs only a few kilograms but somehow controls the entire household.

    My only minor criticism is that some jokes rely on the same central idea—Sarah as the ruler and everyone else as her subjects. While the theme is funny, a little more variation in the middle sections could make the humor feel even fresher. That said, the recurring “queen” motif also gives the piece its identity and consistency.

    The line that stayed with me most was:

    “I’d be lying if I said I no longer enjoy serving my little queen—perhaps now more than ever.”

    In many ways, that sentence reveals the true heart of the post. Beneath all the jokes about manipulation, discipline, and household dictatorship is a father who is deeply, unapologetically in love with his daughter.

    Warm, funny, and highly relatable, this is a charming portrait of early parenthood and the strange joy of happily surrendering control.

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  2. What struck me most about this post is that it works on two levels at once. On the surface, it’s a funny story about a baby who seems to run the household. Underneath, however, it’s really about the emotional transformation that takes place when a parent willingly gives up control.

    The clever part is that Sarah never actually does anything extraordinary. She behaves exactly like a normal four-month-old baby. Yet through the eyes of an exhausted and devoted father, every dropped pacifier becomes a calculated strategy, every nighttime cry becomes a power play, and every feeding session becomes a royal decree. The humor comes not from Sarah’s behavior itself, but from the way you interpret it.

    I also appreciated how consistently you commit to the central metaphor. Sarah is never just a baby; she is a queen, a ruler, a boss, a master strategist. The household becomes her kingdom, and everyone around her becomes part of her staff. By the end of the piece, the reader fully accepts this absurd premise and enjoys seeing how far you can take it.

    One of the strongest aspects of the post is its pacing. The stories escalate naturally—from dropping a pacifier, to midnight performances, to demanding a choir during meals. Each example raises the stakes slightly and reinforces the idea that Sarah’s authority is expanding day by day.

    What separates this from a simple parenting anecdote, however, is the ending. The final paragraphs reveal that the father is not a victim of this arrangement at all. In fact, he embraces it. The supposed surrender is voluntary, even joyful. The reader realizes that the entire article is really a love letter disguised as a complaint.

    I also think the post succeeds because it avoids sentimentality. Instead of directly telling us how much you love your daughter, you show it through your actions. Every time you get out of bed, pace the house, sing during feeding time, or comply with another ridiculous demand, the affection becomes obvious without ever needing to be stated.

    If the previous post, Goodbye to Old Yaniv, was about what fatherhood required you to give up, this one is about what replaced it: a tiny human being who somehow became the center of your universe.

    Funny, imaginative, and full of personality, this is the kind of parenting story that makes readers smile even if they have never changed a diaper in their lives.

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  3. This post made me smile from beginning to end. What I loved most is how it takes ordinary baby behavior and turns it into an epic power struggle between a four-month-old ruler and her completely devoted subject.

    The line that immediately hooked me was:

    “Sarah is exactly that kind of baby. Controlling, manipulative, shamelessly cunning…”

    It’s such an outrageous description of an infant that the reader instantly understands the tone of the piece. The humor works because every accusation is obviously coming from a place of love.

    One of my favorite passages was:

    “Sometimes it feels like she’s actually waiting for the exact moment my head hits the pillow before calling me back.”

    Every parent who has ever tried to sneak a few moments of peace will recognize that feeling. The exaggeration is funny because it feels strangely true.

    I also laughed at:

    “This is her way of signaling that she is to be held only while standing, or else.”

    That sentence perfectly captures the absurd negotiations parents find themselves having with babies who somehow know exactly what they want despite being only a few months old.

    The entire feeding section is wonderful, but the line:

    “No singing—no food.”

    may be the funniest in the article. The image of exhausted adults forming a choir to satisfy a four-month-old queen is both ridiculous and completely believable.

    What gives the post real heart, however, is the ending. After all the jokes about manipulation, dictatorship, and royal authority, you write:

    “I’d be lying if I said I no longer enjoy serving my little queen—perhaps now more than ever.”

    That sentence reveals what the post is truly about. Beneath all the comedy is a father who adores his daughter and willingly accepts every inconvenience because she has become the center of his world.

    I also appreciated the closing observation:

    “Tell me something I don’t know.”

    It’s a perfect acknowledgment that you are fully aware of your own surrender—and completely at peace with it.

    Funny, warm, and delightfully self-aware, this is a charming portrait of early parenthood that turns sleepless nights, feeding battles, and baby demands into a story about love, devotion, and the joy of being happily outmatched by someone who weighs less than ten pounds.

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