I tell you what: daddies are the BOMB, as far as Henry is concerned.
At nearly six weeks, I’m still not convinced he has much of an idea of what’s going on. He tells us apart by voice and by smell, as far as I can see. And so mummies are for food, primarily. And sometimes for making a person dance to nursery rhymes in an undignified manner.
Daddies, on the other hand, are for comfort and playing. Their knees are exactly the right length for lying on.
Their voices are all deep and rumbly.
Their hands are big enough for a tiny person to feel safe in the bath.
And, you know, sometimes it’s nice to have a friend with the same personal parts as you. A fellow needs some manly time after spending all day hanging out with a lady.
A lot of his personality is still unwritten, but if anything’s obvious about him (apart from boobs = yay), it’s that we’ve got ourselves a daddy’s boy.