Run Maggie Run!

Back in the good old days, I could go into another room, leaving Maggie in the living room on a blanket, and she would still be on that blanket when I returned, mad at me, but helpless to stop my reign of terror and abandonment. Now, however, Maggie can (and does) use her curiously advanced mobility to follow me around, calling to me in her baby voice, tugging on my pant legs, and generally requesting a more Maggie-centric focus from me. My only remaining refuge is the kitchen, where a baby gate separates and protects me from invading troops. The baby gate angers Maggie deeply. It is her new sworn arch-nemesis. So far, she has attempted to burrow under it, to climb over it, to push it down, and to chew through it with her single half-tooth. When these tactics failed her, she began simply standing at the gate, looking at me beseechingly and saying, "Mamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamama" until I feel guilty and pick her up. My daughter, ladies and gentlemen, is the current chief executive officer of the department of defense: psychological warfare division. Enemies of the state: beware.