There comes a time in a man’s life when he begins to think about his legacy. Kinda seems like a manly thing to do for a real guy’s guy – you know, taking time to ponder what the real alpha male leaves behind when he finally checks out.

Welp … since I’ve got a closet for an apartment in New York City and I work from home in a solopreneur business, I guess I’m just leaving behind my XBox and a MetroCard.

Okay. So the next best thing is thinking about what will happen to the family name, right?

The Cataldo Clan must live on!

It’s kinda like being a Lannister – ya know, minus the whole brother-on-sister and then sister-on-cousin situations … and I guess minus all that lust for power and world domination stuff … come to think of it, probably want to cut out the pompous arrogance, too.

But there is wine. Lots of wine. So, there’s that.


Dude. So gross.

Dude. So gross.


Ensuring the family name stays in tact in the post-Pete era is something that sneaked into my thoughts when the wife dropped the news that we were expecting our very first bundle of joy. I mean, there was no question that my beautiful queen would deliver the prince I’ve always wanted.

[Note: Read more about the big pregnancy news here – The Beginning; aka: The Event; aka: The WTF Moment]

Sweet! A son. A young prince. The heir to the Cataldo throne. The future King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the 5 Boroughs of New York and Protector of the East Village.

Except when we got the news that it was not a son. In fact, my heir to the throne was actually an HEIRESS.

Hold the phone.

Stop the presses.

Girls have cooties and stuff. Um, yeah. I’m not really ready for this one.

Or am I?

Yes. I will admit that I was hoping for a boy. Nothing wrong with that. But after the initial unveiling of the news of a future princess, this dad-to-be has been nothing short of excited and ready for the challenge.

Meanwhile, let’s be real, the most badass ruler in either Westeros and Essos is a woman. So, since we are keeping our daughter’s name a secret until birth, she will henceforth be referred to as Khaleesi.

In full disclosure: while this actually was a name we considered for like a split-second (because, truly badass), Khaleesi actually is not going to be our daughter’s name. We figured it was a little much, even if it would’ve given me a chuckle every time someone called her name aloud. But yeah, her actual name is still yet-to-be revealed until she makes her grand entrance in the coming weeks.

Fuck with me.

Fuck with me.

Look, there’s just something special about a father-daughter connection. There’s something intangible that comes from the bond that a dad creates with a little girl that helps mold her into a strong woman. It makes the dad a better person.

That leaves me about a month or so to profess really manly things (like legacy and crap) and beat my chest like a Dothraki warrior that just won in battle. Heck, maybe I’ll even eat some fresh stallion heart, too.

Do you serve that with some fava beans and a nice Chianti, or nah?

Do you serve that with some fava beans and a nice Chianti, or nah?

It also gives me a bit of a head start to work on my gun collection. Any pubescent teenage male that thinks he’s gonna have a shot with my daughter better check that shit at the door. This proud poppa bear ain’t fuckin’ around.

But, until that day comes (poor guy), I look forward to when I finally get to hold my little lioness for the first time. I’ll be like this little pat of butter that helplessly melts into the warm embrace of a freshly-baked biscuit.

Game over.

Because, let’s be honest: I’m gonna be wrapped around this little girl’s finger from the very moment she officially hits the airwaves.

When Khaleesi needs an extra hug after a long day of playing with her dolls and stuff? Yep, daddy will be there for that extra squeeze.

When Khaleesi is feeling a little afraid of the dark? Yep, daddy will be there to scare away the big bad monsters.

And when Khaleesi wants to get that cute little puppy, but meanie mommy says no? Yep, daddy will come through in the clutch.

Come to think of it, what could possibly be more manly than being a superhero to your little girl? Who needs the Avengers to assemble when Dad can leap tall high chairs in a single bound?

Oh, and in a few years, when my ridiculously successful, charming and beautiful daughter stumbles upon some random blog and pulls this post up to read it on her Apple Watch or through some iHologram or something … yeah, daddy will explain all that macho-crap he mentioned earlier because he’s just SO HAPPY TO HAVE A LITTLE GIRL.

But you’re still not braiding my hair with pink bows and stuff, dammit.

Okay, maybe just once.