She clings to me. She clings to her dad. I think she'd cling to our dog if he would let her (which he doesn't. Maybe that makes him the best parent of all of us in this situation?).
I blame a little too much birthday excitement. There was a pretty steady stream of grandparents visiting around her birthday last week, and somehow we managed to spread the celebration over a solid week between those visits, her birthday party, her actual birthday, and a celebration in her preschool class. It'd be enough to overwhelm anyone, I guess. And now we're all paying the price.
One day last week, I got up from the couch while we were watching "Dora the Explorer" to get myself a snack. Much of our kitchen is visible from the living room, but I did have to turn a corner that blocked off the view in order to access my handful of Oreos. Before I could even make it around that corner, however, I heard an indignant cry and tiny feet tearing across the room to catch up with me. Yep, that's right. I can't even leave her side long enough to snack lately.
Obviously, this is not acceptable behavior (especially when it renders me unable to sneak Oreos). So gently, gently, I'm trying to peel back the Saran Wrap in hopes of revealing my previously independent (OK, kind of independent) daughter underneath.
I have a feeling, however, that the more apt metaphor here might involve a band-aid. Because there's no way this little clinger is going to be peeling off without a little pain.