I carried her for longer than the required 9 months.
I got fat for her...for awhile.
Every day I pack, chop, cook, sort, fold, scrub, tidy, wipe, sing, read, change, cuddle, comfort, carry, shop, brush, chase, feed, plan, clean, and play for her.
So, of course, I'm her fave, right?
Nope. Lately she most definitely daddy's little girl. He's the shiz and I'm most definitely shiz-less.
For example, when we all walk to and from the car we ask, "Do you want to hold Mommy's hand, Brynn?" Her eyes get as big as dinner plates while her little eyebrows pull together. Her little feet stomp and she looks me right in the eye as she wags her finger frowningly and says, "Noooooooo" as though I've got razor blades glued to my palm.
I sound bitter.