My daughter is JUST LIKE ME.
She looks like me.
She’s sweaty like me.
She’s gassy like me.
She’s cranky like me.
She eats everything she sees like me.
She has an attitude like me.
She’s not lovey-dovey like me.
But, there is one difference. She hates me.
If I look at her the wrong way, she screams. If she’s crying, there’s no way for me to comfort her. If her Momma hands her to me, all hell will break loose. If it isn’t Momma or Granny Mitchell–you can forget about it.
We play a game with her where we say “Where’s Momma?” or “Where’s Granny?” or “Where’s Pawpaw?” And wait for her to look or point at the person with a loving smile.
But when it comes to “Where’s daddy?” I get a look, but it isn’t one of those loving looks she gives everyone else. The best way I can interpret this look is “I don’t know if that’s daddy, but it’s that fat ass that lives at our house.”
They keep telling me that “soon” she’ll be a Daddy’s girl and not want anyone else.
And I keep believing this lie.
There are many people out there that don’t like me and cry when they see me. I’m not sure why I thought my daughter would be any different. On the plus side, I’ve actually gotten a full night’s sleep since she was born–whereas, her mother has not. Silver linings.