Tears formed in my eyes last night as I suddenly saw the bright, neon sign that flashed over my daughters head….DADDY’S GIRL *blink blink* DADDY’S GIRL *blink blink*. As I attempted to rock Mia to sleep, the velvet curtains of life opened wide; the orchestra began to play, and the number one act came out on stage…My Husband.
As the evening grew dark, we sat, for hours…ALERT…giggling, laughing and begging for daddy to continue on. His act was nothing special. For most moments he just sat, trying to be discreet, but capturing Mia’s attention none the less. When daddy would pay attention, Mia giggled and giggled, only enabling the show to continue on. “BRAVO! BRAVO!” she would shout, forcing an eternal encore. She even shared some of her acts with her super star. “I’ll show you my peek-a-boo” she would say, seeking a never disappointing approval from her hero.
The night was full of class-acts. Daddy was the star of the show, capturing our daughter’s full attention, and causing her to not want to miss a moment of the happenings. Eventually, we ran out of time. The audience was leaving, and the stage hands were tired; it was time to take the final bow. So, as daddy performed his final act, he snuggled Mia into his arms and carried her off into “La-La Land;” a place where, evidently, Daddy is the only acceptable form of transportation these days.
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