My short stint as being the “favorite” parent is over. Addison is clearly now a Daddy’s Girl, just like Emma. It’s all Daddy, all the time around here. Now when I pick her up in the morning her first words are “Daddy? Daddy. DAAA–DY!” This was the scene yesterday morning and again this morning, too.

I can’t say I blame the girls, J. does seem to have a gravitational pull that is comparable to that of the moon’s. You just want to be around him when he is around. Plus he is letting them watch the Three Stooges this particular morning, something they will never get from Mommy.

But (okay, here comes the whining and maybe a little stomping of my feet!) it just isn’t FAIR! I want to be somebody’s favorite, too!

I mean, COME ON! Who actually lugged you around for a total of 20 months, pushed both of your *little* 8-pound bodies into this world, spent a total of 2 years nursing you, changed 9,721 diapers (and this is using a modest 6 diaper per day estimate) and have laundered 832 loads of your laundry (again, based on a very conservative estimate of 4 loads a week!)? I coerce you into eating something other than cheerios and cheese, make sure you are clothed most days (ok, the shopping part is actually fun…maybe you shouldn’t count that), wipe your runny noses, dry your tantrum tears with my t-shirt, make sure you take your vitamins and brush your teeth every day.

Ah, who am I kidding? Given the choice, I don’t think I’d want to be around me either. I am definitely not the “fun” parent here.