Since Abby got here, she's sort of preferred her mom to me. You would, too. (You may already.) Let me give you a choice: Say you can go to a warm and comfortable buffet in your pajamas that produces the most food when you're the hungriest, and then lets you fall asleep on it when you're finished eating. Say the alternative is rubbing your face against sandpaper and eating fake food that always gives you gas. What would you pick? There's also been the additional impediment of C spending 10 or more hours a day with her than I do. Lately, this has begun to change a little. Abby's warming up to me, and Sunday night we had a lovely time together. She sat with me for the entire second half of the Colts/Giants matchup, and we quietly (for the most part) watched a football game together.
(insert clever comparison to Homer & Lisa in this space)
We had one small incident, when I shouted out "Interception!" and scared the hell out of her, but once we got that under control, we sat together on the floor on some pillows and watched the first NFL contest of the Manning brothers. I decided to talk to her as if two things were true: 1) she could understand every word I said, and 2) she was really interested in not only the action of the game, but the baseline rules of pro football (including that "subtracting ten seconds off the clock" thing which kind of bit me in the ass - I don't remember that). I explained about the greatness of Tiki Barber, the occasional incomprehensibility of John Madden, and the fact that Adam Vinatieri never misses. At the end of what turned out to be a great game (with some bad officiating), she was covered in drool, my leg was asleep, and I felt briefly a whole lot better about the universe.