Despite her obvious and often violent disregard for my comfort during her fetushood, Maggie has proven to be a bit of a Mama's girl. She enjoys the company of others, but she will usually protest noisily if I am not within arm's reach at all times. Like most aspects of parenting, this has its pros and cons. On the one hand, it is not necessarily convenient to be within arm's reach 100% of the time. I cannot even remember, for example, the last time I took a shower without hearing steadily louder wailing (from Maggie and Ian) over the melodious tinkle of the running water. On the other hand, who on earth could object too strenuously to being loved so much by so magical a creature, whatever the inconvenience?
While I expect to retain my exalted position in Maggie's affections at least until she masters solid foods (which she mostly gives a thumbs-down to so far, by the way), Ian has learned techniques to soothe and comfort Maggie when I am unavailable. The most effective of these, in case you are facing a similar situation with a similar baby, is playing Daft Punk at loud volumes. Some babies like lullabies. Some babies like those womb sound machines. Maggie likes Robot-themed techno. By providing this auditory delight for her, Ian seems to have made up for the fact that he yields no milk. Last night, Maggie was flirting with her dad something fierce. She kept saying "Dada! Dad-dee!" and trying to catch his eye. (Her babbling, incidentally, has become weirdly word-like of late. She says 'Dada', 'Mama', 'baby', and 'die-per', at relevant moments. We can't quite decide if we are just imagining it, or if she is freakishly advanced verbally. I'll keep you posted.) So, in case you are planning a road trip and want to pencil in all interesting tourist attractions, may I suggest a stop at our house. We don't have the world's biggest ball of yarn, and we don't have Stonehenge made out of beer bottles, but we are home to the world's cutest Daddy-Daughter Duo.