Now that Wiggy is busy building lips and ears and cheeks (many kinds) and a possible future receding hairline, the Insta-Princess and I’ve discovered that we now have to consider some of life’s kicks-in-the-butt that we previously thought wouldn’t (in the words of the wise ’80s prophet, Matthew Wilder) “break [our] stride”.

For instance, do we allow spanking? If so, should we wear the leather outfits and ball gags? Or, should we save it as a disciplinary measure for Wiggy should he do something naughty like bury the neighbor’s cat?

Since, for the most part, we weren’t really planning on having kids, these conversational topics failed to make their way to the top of the list; instead, we focused more on areas of interest designed for the dual income, no kids crowd. Like:

“Wanna cook dinner tonight?”

“No. Do you?”

“Not a chance. How about fast food?”

“We had that last night.”

“Right. Sounds good, though.”

“Yeah. We haven’t tried the Arby’s on the other side of town. Betcha it tastes different than all the other Arby’s we’ve been to.”

“Brilliant theory. Let’s go—hey, are we waddling?”

In our defense, we talk about smart things, too, like String Theory. Her opinion is that string cheese is pretty damn good, and mine generally centers around, “Say, did the cat eat string again? ‘Cause, otherwise, what’s that coming out of her butt?”

I suppose the one child raising consideration that we’ve (largely) done our best to ignore is religion. Now, luckily, the both of us don’t really butt heads when it comes to worshiping an almighty. Me, I’m an ex-Catholic who eventually transformed into a mighty robot atheist; the Insta-Princess is somewhat more inclined to believe in a vague “something” out there that has, thus far, handed her a good life (including, despite her occasional complaints and handful of restraining orders, moi). Personally, I kinda wish atheists would go the route of rituals and robes—because that was always pretty cool—but otherwise I haven’t missed religion. (I was an-occasional-weekend-but-mostly-holidays Catholic, anyway, so my lifestyle didn’t change much with the exception that I started enjoying Sundays a whole heckuva lot more.

Hey, pews ain’t comfortable.)

But, how do we deal with Wiggy? I’d like to think that personal religious preference is just that: personal; however, I also know full well that even if our own families didn’t believe differently than we do, there’s a world full of neighbors who won’t allow personal to remain such. People are nosy (including me) and will happily demand to know your religion (well, okay, I don’t do that); and if you happen to give the wrong answer, they’ll be sure to supply you with the proper instructional tract. Still, even if the adults in her world are gracious enough to leave that topic alone , Wiggy will face questions from her curious classmates, so she’s probably going to come across religion about five minutes after walking across that kindergarten classroom threshold.

I’m all for leaving religion out of our daily lives until she brings it up. And, then? Well, I want to introduce her to critical thinking as early as possible, but seeing as she’ll be, oh, a wee bit too young for that, I’ll probably try to stick to something short and simple like, “Nada. We believe in zilch.” Or, “We believe in Arby’s and the holy 5 for $5.95. Amen.”

Except, Santa Claus. By golly, Wiggy’s gonna believe in Santa Claus… even if he didn’t die for our sins. (Yeah, well, Jesus never saved Charlie-In-The-Box from the Island of Misfit Toys, either, so it’s pretty much a wash.)