I like fixing things around the house, and take the ‘Mr. Fixit’ title given to me by my wife as a compliment. My wife has let my daughter know that daddy does most of the fixing around the house. So whether its some hair clip teddy bear that needs a little super glue, or a book that talks, that needs a battery change, my wife would probably tell my daughter that, “We’ll need to ask papa to fix it.” Recently though, a musical toy that had stopped working, took a fall, and miraculously hit the right spot so that it started working again. Since this wasn’t a battery change issue, it was something more technical, I wasn’t able to fix it. Now that this magically started working, my daughter assumed that since I’m the fix-it-all, that I had fixed it. Here’s the scene. I don’t know about the miracle yet. My wife is feeding my daughter, and my daughter is playing with the toy in question. I still don’t realize that this wasn’t working before. My daughter looks at me...
A blog about the realisations that I've had as a parent of a beautiful baby girl.