Daddy’s girl: snuggled up with her main man, reading a story.

I came in from stirring soup on the stove to see them like this, enjoying their before-dinner bonding time.

I love to watch these two converse.

Look at this page, Daddy!

Peeking over his baby girl’s shoulder.

Smirking, she elbows him out of her personal space.

Nice try, Miss E.

She plants one in return.

Like her Daddy, she loves books: I frequently come around a corner to find her plopped on the floor beside a raided bookshelf, surrounded by a fan of books and paging deliberately through one of her selections. Books, blond hair falling in her eyes, a steady stream of talk, and her pink crocs: these are her trademarks. And those pink crocs STINK. She considers them her inside shoes (inspired, I think, by the fact that I always wear Birkenstocks in the house) and will not be without them. A few days ago I confiscated them and managed a thorough washing with soap and water. They smelled better for an evening, anyway.

This girl fills our home with a tiny high-pitched voice, very grown-up conversation, delighted storytimes–and adorable, pink-toed, smelly feet. I’d say that’s Daddy’s girl.

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