I can accept that you're a Daddy's girl. I even think it's sweet.
I'll even use it to my benefit when you're fussy and he tries to hand you off to me but you refuse, "Awww..she wants yoooou! Cuuute!" as I stroll away arms free and unencumbered.
Watching him try to put on his pants this morning and trying not to drop you because he couldn't stand the howling and sad face if he put you down gave me tremendous satisfaction. "Remember when Charlie was a baby?? This was my life. Every minute. Of every. Single. Day. A little sympathy finally? Big gold star? Pat on the head?"
But, Little Miss Quinn, you finally scrathced through my tough exterior this morning.
After a long night of pain from your molars coming through in which I stood in the dark swaying back and forth and humming softly in your ear, or awkwardly hunched over your crib rubbing your back for an eternity because you'd holler if I tried to tiptoe away you STILL punched me in the face this morning when I tried to take you from your Daddy's arms so he could leave for work.
That stung, little girl. I know Daddy's all horsey rides, tickles and wet kisses, but let's not forget who brought you into this world and raises you with blood, sweat and tears.
Ahhhhh...the plight of a mother. Where's the glamour? Maybe one day I'll get a thanks!
(By the way...thanks, Mommy!)
She was so ridiculous when he left this morning. The door closed behind him and she plopped to the floor and melted into a screaming puddle. My sympathy was waining so instead of picking her up out of her tantrum I got my camera.
Being the trained-from-birth-model that she is, she flipped the switch immediately so instead of the Devastated Daddy's Girl picture I was planning to get, I got the Red Eyed, Wet Faced Professional Baby Model picture.
And then seconds later while she tried to wrestle the camera away from me:
That's definitely going in the wedding slideshow.
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