Daddy's girl

Nora has always been a daddy's girl, and I'm OK with that. She and I have a perfectly swell time together during the day, when it's just the two of us, but as soon as dada's key turns in the front door in the early evening, he's the main attraction in this circus. Me, I'm just here to clean up after the elephants at that point.

But lately she's finding me more interesting, even when there's competition from that dada fellow. He usually gets the, um, pleasure of helping her with dinner, which involves sitting in the seat next to her high chair and dodging thrown apple slices and flying forks. But every now and then, she'll gesture for me to put my butt in that most honored of seats and demand "mama do it!"

And at bedtime, one of the final steps of our 4,892-step routine is to ask her if she wants "up with mama or up with dada" to determine who'd she'd prefer to pick her up and put her in her crib. For months on end, the answer was always "I'd like (pause for dramatic effect) dada!" So imagine my surprise one night when she paused, grinned, and said "MAMA do it," even pointing at me to make clear she wasn't talking about someone else.

And mama has been doing that for several nights in a row now, which, I have to admit, is a great ego boost. I mean, dada's great and all, but it's nice to know that mama is appreciated, too. And it's nice to get to be the one to dispense snuggles and kisses on demand, instead of just the one who yells "Hey, stop that!" a lot and makes her do onerous things like wearing shoes and staying in her car seat.

But don't worry: I'm not letting the new attention go to my head. Dada is still the big star around here. And in case I forget that, Nora is using one of her newest vocabulary words to drive that point home.

Last weekend, while we were all playing in her room, she pointed at dada and said "Oh! My favorite!"

It's OK. At least I know where I stand. It might not always be in the spotlight, but I'm content to play a supporting role.