When I come home from work, I come home to a fussy baby. Actually, I don't generally see the fussiness; the moment I walk through the door L.J. goes from screaming, shrieking banshee to tame housecat. He'll play in his jumper, sit on Daddy or Mommy and watch TV, suck on his toes, talk to his best friend (that would be the ceiling fan), giggle at the dog, and do his best to either smack or scratch anything in reach. He pulls the cat's tail and the dog's whiskers. He laughs. He naps. He's wonderful. This is the evidence my husband gives me to say that I'm my son's favorite person.
On the other hand, that little booger sees Daddy and lights up like Independence Day fireworks. He giggles, laughs hysterically, and talks. He doesn't laugh for Mommy... Only Daddy gets that part of him! He'll shriek with joy just by seeing Daddy walk by. There's a special bond they have, that I don't have. It makes me a little jealous to hear L.J. laugh hysterically because Daddy tickles him on the changing table. I'm lucky just to get a big smile out of him when I do that! In fact, most of the time what I get is excited wiggling and fist-chomping. Not that it isn't adorable, because it is, but come on. I'm Mommy. Babies should laugh for their mothers.
Babies discriminate. That's all there is to it. And I'm pretty sure they know what they're doing. They're playing Mom and Dad against each other for the maximum amount of love. It's in their ooey-gooey cuteness. It's just how they're made. It's evil. It's adorable. It's working.
Honestly, watching the two of them makes me tear up with joy. There's nothing more amazing than watching my husband be a father to our son. And there's certainly nothing that makes me happier than watching my family, day after day.
It's all worth it.
|Laughing for Daddy.|