You all knew this post was coming. It was only a matter of time before I addressed my loving daughter's evolution into something more commonly known as "Daddy's Little Girl". I thought that maybe Mazzy would eschew stereotypes and opt for a more original lot in life, but alas— no such luck.

My first glimpses of it was back when Mazzy said DADA before MAMA (many, many months before), but it has blossomed into much more than just an unfortunate speech pattern.

Mazzy loves Daddy more than anything.

Certainly more than me.

Her undying devotion is obvious the moment she wakes up in the morning. 

"See Daddy?" she asks as I enter the room. I have become a mode of transport. I pick her up, change her diaper ("See, Daddy! SEE, DADDY!") and then deliver her straight into her beloved's arms (still in bed, mind you).

At breakfast, Mike always makes strawberry banana smoothies. Mazzy loves them but she doesn't want her own. She wants Daddy to put two straws in his so they can share.

"Do you want a sip of mine?" I'll ask.

"No. Just Daddy's."

And so it goes.

Every time I change her clothes, she begs to wear her Giants t-shirt because she knows that somehow this ties her to her father.

"The Giants shirt is dirty. You wore it the past three days in a row."


"I'm sorry, babe. It's in the wash."


I guess she assumes Daddy would never deny her the Giants shirt despite it's soiled and crusty location at the bottom of the hamper.

She's probably right.

After work, I usually get home before Mike. I ring the bell for dramatic effect so Mazzy can answer the door. And when she opens it, I get a huge smile, an excited "IT'S MOMMEEEEE!!!!!" and a wonderfully tight hug. I can't complain.

But the first words out of her mouth after our hug is over are, "Daddy is coming home too?"

"Yes, Daddy is coming home too."

"I put on the Giants t-shirt?"


Ever since she's been little, Mazzy likes to play with us on our bed. We create mountains by extending our legs up under the blanket and Mazzy jumps on top to send the mountains tumbling down. We do "BOOMS" which means that all three of us sit in a row on one end of the bed and fall backwards together with a "One.. Two… Three.. BOOM!" We trap eachother under the covers and take turns waging tickle attacks and it's all unbelievably fun.

But now, every once in awhile, I'll think we're all having a blast when suddenly Mazzy yells, "Mommy! You go there!"

"There" equals "out of the room". Mazzy points straight at our bedroom door so there is no confusion. It's as if she is having so much fun that the only way she can top it, is to get Mommy out of the picture completely.

Somehow, I had sex with a man and gave birth to a girl only to become the third wheel in my own home.

Why and how did this happen? 

Last night, as a after-dinner reward for eating an impressive amount of chicken, we decided to take Mazzy for cookies at a bakery down the block. 

Before we left, Mazzy announced she wanted to take TWO BOOS along for the walk. ("Two Boos" is what she calls her blankies collectively— both Old Boo and New Boo.) She grabbed them and met us at the front door.

She then screamed, "All together!" as she often does when she realizes we are going somewhere as a family, after which she usually takes both our hands to further demonstrate solidarity.

She put out her hand for Daddy to hold and then she looked at me. I could see her thinking. She was clasping two Boos in one arm and Daddy's hand in the other. Mommy's hand would have to be sacrificed.

"Mommy, you go by yourself."

"Ok," I said, "that's fine." And then I followed behind the two of them, as they walked hand-in-hand, into the elevator, through our building lobby and down the sidewalk.

Midway to the bakery, Old Boo slipped out of Mazzy's arm and fell to the ground. As she and Daddy continued walking, I swooped down to pick it up.

A few moments later, Mazzy realized she had dropped it and swiveled her head around, panic stricken. I quickly handed it back to her.

"Thank you, Mommy."

"That's what I'm here for, sweetie."

And then she turned back to take Daddy's hand and I continued walking a few steps behind. 


Is your daughter undyingly devoted to your husband? Does it ever end?