Tonight, we all read a story together in Jack's room. Afterwards, Daddy took Hannah into her room, sang her a song and tucked her in, while I stayed and snuggled with Jack for a few minutes. Then, I went into Hannah's room, and she was a little sad.
"What's wrong, Baby Girl?"
"I'm sad."
"Why are you so sad, Hannah?"
"Because I didn't get to see Brady or Channing at all!"
I promised to schedule play-dates, sang her another song, and nuzzled her tiny, baby neck. I tucked her in and slipped away.
A few moments later, Hannah started crying. I looked at Brad and begged, without words, for him to go. At the end of the night, I'm near exhaustion and sometimes I just don't have one more ounce to give. He happily went, and all was well.
Until five minutes later, when Hannah showed up in our room, crawled into her Daddy's lap, and watched the last few minutes of America's Funniest Home Videos. When it was over, she wanted me to take her back to her room.
I heaved myself over the edge of the bed, took her back to her room, brushed her hair off her neck, and slipped away once again.
A few minutes later?
Crying. I looked at Brad again. I might have put my finger on my nose, indicating, "Not it!"
He was gone awhile, and I started to feel guilty, so I went to see what happened. I found Brad, snuggled up tight with Hannah on her toddler bed. I went into her room, kissed her on her forehead, and whispered, "You have the best daddy in the whole wide world."
"I already know that, Mommy," she whispered back.
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