Things at home are quiet. And that is just fine by me.

Nothing has broken/exploded in the house recently, although I’m certain I just jinxed it by saying that.
Summer is winding down, theoretically*, as today is the first official day of autumn.  (*The heat index outside is currently 101°.  Winter is coming.)
Daphne is healthy and happy in her little routines.
All is well.

And given that my vocational satisfaction has plunged to an all-time low in recent weeks, it’s really nice to have things at home be steady. That kind of counterbalance is monumentally helpful.

Anyway, I thought I’d talk a bit about woobies for a bit.

Daphne has no woobie.

No blanket. No stuffed animal. No pacifier. No favorite toy. Nothing.

I had “Monk” (my favorite sock monkey), and “Baa Baa the Dirt Bomb” (don’t ask), as a kid. And I’m pretty sure Jen had a woobie/blankie of some kind. But Daphne hasn’t shown a preference for any of her toys.

She loves her books. She loves the iPad. And she sucks her thumb like there’s apple juice on tap in there.
But she’s not attached to any external thing, you know?

I’m a self-contained unit.

So, because I am incurably addicted to mulling and cogitating on things until I reach the most absurd conclusions possible, I’ve ended up of two minds here.

• All of Daphne’s needs are being met, and so there’s no need for her to look for any external reassurance.  
• She’s having trouble forming emotional attachments and she’ll go through life incapable of showing any love/empathy to anything, ever and ohmygod what kind of father are you?

Hey, I’m a parent.
Worrying is my verb.

All hyperbole aside, my daughter is an Olympic-class snuggler so I honestly don’t believe it’s the latter.  And she does seem to be developing quite the affinity for Beatrice, so maybe that will become her first “favorite toy?”

Guess we’ll see.

j.s.