So Baby M has got a big case of Mommy's Girl. It's gotten pretty bad. Only I can take her out of the highchair. Only I can wash her hands and face. Only I can pick her up in a crowd. Only I can read her stories, even though she loves being read to almost more than anything else in the world. You get the picture.
It's gotten so bad that last weekend, I picked up a little board book called Daddy Loves Me. Yes. Propaganda. We've resorted to propaganda. "Look, MarMar! Look at the daddy pushing the baby in the swing! That baby sure is happy. Look at that big smile!"
Funny thing is that she LOVES this book. She wants to hear it over & over again... but only if I read it to her. If R tries to take a turn, it's tears, snot & a panicky begging for "Mommy, hold you!"
I hope, hope, hope this phase will soon be over. Don't get me wrong. It's nice to be needed & loved, but I'd much, much rather share that honor (and the hand-washing & the holding & everything else).