Foid Engineering
Notes on Becoming a Girl Dad
I
I’m having a baby girl. I’m so excited. I can’t tell whether it’s a blessing or a curse yet but I’m happy to find out.
The blessing is that she will love me more than any woman on earth - the curse part of it is I am now aware of that fact that she will, at some point, have to suck dick.
Dammit. Sibley’s First Law is going to apply to her. All women are whores. She’s gonna fuck some frat boy in the back of his Toyota Tacoma then find out she’s one of a dozen girls in his phone. He’s labeled her “Miss Tuesday”.
Her mother is going to teach her how to use makeup for maximum effect, and she’ll be happy to do it because it will attract the attention of boys. They’re going to fucking drool over her and think about all the nasty things they want to do to her.
I hate it. I can’t even goon in peace anymore. I love facefucking/deepthroat porn, seeing sloppy wet bitches work a dick like busy little worker bees. But every time I get down for a private moment to crank hog, a tiny part of me goes, “some dude is going to want my daughter to do this for him one day.”
FUCK.
Some dads live in deep denial of this reality to the point where they sound like retards. “if anyone views my daughter as a S3x ObJeCt, I’m gonna beat em up!!!” or some stupid shit.
I get it. Your daughter is the only woman who loves you purely for who you are, not what you can do for her. You don’t want to see her broken down by the same male perversion you carry yourself.
But the instinct to protect can only go so far. A parent’s most important job is to make sure their child is acquainted with suffering. They need to know how to deal with life, not be shielded from it.
Which means your daughter might have a hoe phase. She might be ogled at by cavemen and enjoy it. She’s gonna suck dick.
The best you can do is make sure she knows how to find a respectable one.
II
Thank you, God, for not giving my daughter an extra chromosome.
I really didn’t want to have to push my wife for an abortion. Nor did I want to raise a kid with Down syndrome and turn into one of those parents on social media gushing in my thick-rimmed glasses and crow’s feet about how “my Down’s Syndrome child taught me SO MUCH about LOVE!” while drowning in permanent codependency.
I get a strong uncanny valley reaction around people with Down syndrome. It’s deeply uncomfortable — like talking to something that’s not quite alien, but not quite human either.
It makes my skin crawl, especially because social etiquette demands you pretend it doesn’t. All thanks to the enforcement of hippy Downs parents who twist themselves into knots to prevent you from feeling the way you feel.
I can feel some of you judging me. That’s fine. No matter how loud you are in your disapproval, you’re in the minority. Most Down syndrome pregnancies are terminated once diagnosed. Why? The truth is ugly even when we wish it weren’t.
Only a small percentage of kids with DS will ever reach anything close to adult independence. You’ll be lucky if they hold a real job, get married, or live without heavy support. For most families, it means raising a toddler forever or watching the long list of medical complications wear them down early.
You’ll get older and less able to tend to their needs, which will never diminish. They’ll likely have the same function at 50 as they did at 10. When you die, they become a ward of the state or another institution where they’ll be treated like cattle until the day they die.
Honestly. Fuck off. There’s no special benevolence in bringing a Down syndrome child into the world. Yes, abortion is evil and the pro-life crowd can scream about innocent souls being murdered, but trapping a soul in a defective flesh-prison isn’t much better. It’s a brutal burden on both parent and child.
But hey, I’m just a mean old man who doesn’t understand “the real meaning of love.” If only I’d seen all those pictures: Downs kids dressed up in fleece polos, smiling in a field against a perfect pile of leaves, with captions screaming how much they LOVE LOVE LOVE life!
Yeah, the pictures are professional. They look good. But they’re not enough to distract from the daily reality — the endless repetition, the constant supervision, infinite dependence, and the slow, reluctant acceptance that you’ll never have a normal adult child who can truly stand on their own.
III
I just need to make sure my daughter doesn’t come out trans or gay. That’s all. My daughter needs to shut the fuck up, learn how to cook, and find a rich guy willing to bankroll her and our family’s existence.
Millennial finance twitter tells me the only way to get ahead now is gambling. Compounding is busted thanks to Boomers needing to fund Israel or their 8 vacations per year. So, my retirement plan is gambling on my daughter’s future rich husband. This will be a brutal loss if she becomes a rainbow rug-muncher or chops her tits off.
My wife and I routinely discuss how to vaccinate her against globohomo. We want to homeschool; it would be more fun (probably) for the entire family if we got to teach her that there are only two genders and Hitler may have had a point.
We can’t let her have a cellphone until she hits age of consent. There’s the risk of her sending underage nudes as well as the risk of middle-age retards telling her that she’s actually a boy because she wants a pixie haircut.
Fuck it. We can’t let her have anything. The cartoons are all gay now. I saw some dysgenic animated cow from a modern-day kid’s cartoon trying to explain his pronouns to his barn animal friends. What the fuck is this shit.
So, I’m pirating every episode of Mr. Rogers known to man, especially the ones where he says, “girls can’t become boys”. Maybe I’ll grab a video of that crazy pastor in Arkansas who likes to shout gay slurs at the congregation. Baby girl needs fire and brimstone to stop her from smashing clams with another chick.
But all the hyper religious people are secretly gay, so we could be uno-reversing ourselves if we push this too hard. Maybe being loved by her dad will be enough. All the worst women I know hate their fathers or don’t know who they are. My daughter will know her dad loves her. Maybe that will be enough.
IV
Baby girl isn’t even here yet and I have a dad bod. I suppose I always did. There are a couple pictures of me at a much stronger time, when I could see my back muscles and shoulders protruding through my polos. Shit, I looked good.
But since I started dating my now-wife, I don’t care. I have no one to impress. I have so many demands on my time and the gym doesn’t get enough.
In my heart I want to. I miss boxing and jiu-jitsu. I miss sparring, fighting, dueling. It’s in my blood. I dream about it. But I have to drive an hour to the gym every day and it just doesn’t fit right now.
I don’t know how we’re always short-staffed at work. My work bro left so I’m stuck with this fat retarded zoomer who, due to his stupid body shape and vertical challenges, is desperate for significance.
So, he works hard. The job is the only thing he has going for him. It was annoying in the beginning but now he’s doing a decent job. I want to fire him.
His looks aren’t there. He may not have down syndrome, but the bullet just barely grazed him. His hips are wider than most women’s. He’d turn heads at a gay bar with the size of his ass.
He measures up to no one. You have to look down at him because God wants you to know how good you have it. He has the voice of a constipated donkey and the social tact of a water buffalo. And God dammit he’s still probably at the office working.
I don’t want to work that hard. I have other shit to do with my life. Nor do I want my bosses thinking he needs a promotion more than me. I work hard too. But I also have friends. And soon a daughter.
Would I want my daughter to end up with someone like him? Only if he hits it rich. I wouldn’t mind if she ran the dual-mating strategy. She can fuck alphas and marry this genetic dead-end if he pays. She could give him pity sex twice a year and keep his funds funneling into the family bank account.
She could crank out some kids with questionable paternity but hey, we won’t ask any questions because he’ll be none the wiser, and loose lips sink ships.
“You can’t be serious, Sibley - that’s evil!!” Yeah, sometimes you’ve gotta be a little evil. Whose blog did you think you were reading? Are you fucking new here or something?
V
More and more, I see my friends having kids or suddenly wanting them because of us. A longtime follower is now pregnant in her 40s. A buddy on X just had his second.
Our friends with a two-year-old wanted to try for another so she and my wife could go through it together. They’re still trying.
One of my college buddies has a wife who’s completely obsessed with their little girl. She loves playing with her and talking about her at our meetups. She just got off birth control and they’re starting to try too.
Slowly, surely, life is growing all around me. And it brings me too much joy.
I hardly remember what I was so upset about before. My wife wakes me up in the mornings, stroking my face, playing with my hair. I wake up to see her smiling so softly at me and nothing else really matters. Did I ever really need any more than this?
Seeing her belly swell, being in a position to take care of her financially, emotionally, spiritually - was this the point all along?
I don’t live my life in regret, but God damn do I wish I’d saved that $100k in prostitutes for a home so my wife and daughter can have a yard. I don’t want to rent from Uncle Blackrock. I want to own something I can shield my family in.
But daddy needed his dick sucked. And now he has to figure out how to buy you the life you deserve while also not cursing you with the repayment of his sins.
I’m being dramatic. I don’t care. Life is good. God will take care of me. As long as I show up and make the effort, it will all work out.
In a few weeks, I’ll be a dad. I’ll report back on what it’s like then. But just know, if I can accomplish getting a hot wife and kids while being a raging sex addict with a foul mouth and 150+ bodies, then you can fucking do it too.