Drew has always secretly wanted to be in a punk rock band, despite the fact that he can't carry a tune. This of course does not prevent him from singing off-tune Beatles songs to Rachel as he's rocking her to sleep.
But now he gets to be a rock star in his own household. The last two nights I've been alone with Rachel, she has called me "Dada!" Not "Mama!" or "Mamee!" but "Dada." "Honey, I'm Mama, not Dada," I tell her, smiling. To which she replies with a grin, "Dada!"
She lit up this morning when Drew and I walked into her room but kept her eyes firmly on Drew. When we took her for a walk earlier this week he said smugly, "Basically, I rock her world."
It seems he is right.
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