Somehow, my beloved has been secretly brainwashing the little angel to talk to him. I don't know how he does it - maybe he  spends the three hours while I'm teaching my class on Tuesday nights focusing in his evil language lessons.  Or maybe he squeezes it in during the hour a weekend I go to the gym.  Because really, I am with her more than he is.  At least I thought I was. Now I am beginning to question this.

First he taught her to clap, clap, clap.  I had been attempting this for weeks, but does she pay any attention to me?  NO. I can't talk like the cowardly lion in the Wizard of Oz.  My nose doesn't crinkle up like his does. 

The latest betrayal was her first word.  Yesterday, while he installed the window unit in her room (we have central air, but when the vents are in THE FLOOR, it doesn't help much that hot air rises upstairs), we played, we ate porcupine balls (don't ask - a friend gave me the recipe - the little angel spit them back out, then threw them all on the floor - I guess beef is NOT what is for dinner for her), then...he walked in.  She looked up, batted her big, blue eyes, and quite clearly said, "Hi, Daddy."  Then she went back to throwing the porcupine balls on the floor.

I sat there, crushed.  My beloved looked at me triumphantly and proceeded to do a short, unchoreographed victory dance through the middle of the kitchen.  I looked at the little angel, who was winding up to pitch the next porcupine ball to the cat, who looked interested.  "Hi, Mama," I said, weakly.  She looked at me and laughed.  "Ga ga," she replied.

SHIT.  Yes, I'm obviously green with envy.