Chopped Liver

I hear intense wailing erupting from Zora's room.

First, the wind-up like a car choking to life:

"Eehh, eehh, eehh."

A brief silence as Baby Girl catches her breath.

And then...

"EEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

A Niagra Falls of tears spill onto those pink cherub cheeks. Those dark eyes get all squinched up. Something is clearly amiss: Daddy is putting her to sleep, and she'll have Nunavut (hey, it's not just a territory in Canada).

For the past week or so, Mommy has been the parent of choice.

"She hates me," Rodney pouts.

"She doesn't hate you," I say sweeping up the wee wailing girl. "She just prefers me."

As quickly as flipping a switch, the tears stop and Zora flashes me her two little gerbil teeth. Someone has gotten her way, and someone else, is as our friends Jodi and Tony say, "chopped liver."