Twofer

My daughter didn't even ask my husband if she could call him daddy. She just bopped into the living room one day and told us that she was going to. And although my husband does his very best to respect Ladybug's biological father- she didn't need to break his pinkies to get him to agree.
Jed's been playing weekday daddy to my darling cupcake since she was just about a year old and it didn't take more than one butterfly eyelash solo before she had him completely wrapped around her tiny little finger. But because he's a good and respectful man, he's always known just where to stand outside of the bubble she and her biological father have been floating in since... well since she first batted her eyes at him on day numero uno.
Jed knows when it's his turn to be daddy and when to let her father take over the reins on the weekends. We've been successful at working as a team when making important kid-decisions such as where to enroll for Kindergarten and such, so I'd say things have gone pretty well so far considering the somewhat awkward circumstances that go along with having three parents. We're all just now getting comfortable in the flow of parenting together, I guess you can say.
So, this weekend we picked up Ladybug from her dad's house in Orlando and were kind of hanging around in his back yard analyzing the lumpy lemons growing on his citrus tree when suddenly the bubble popped and the daddy's got all mixed up.
Of course, it was funny to her that "Daddy" answered when she called his name when she really was calling for my husband. Funny for the rest of us? Not so much. We all skipped a beat or two before falling back into the lumpy lemon observations and I think my face turned three shades of red before things went back to normal.
It really got me thinking on the way home about how much different this life is going to be for my Ladybug than the life I had. As far as a father is concerned, I was pretty much broke in that department where her little cup runneth over.
Where I spent much of my childhood sitting on the front porch waiting for my own father to show up, she will have one doting man on either side of the door at any given time. She won't ever look into an audience at a play or a crowd at a softball game and desperately search for that one pair of eyes because chances are...there will be two sets of eyes and two pairs of hands clapping wildly and cheering for her with equal zest and unmatched pride.
And I'll be sitting somewhere nearby thanking my lucky stars that there are two great men her life who couldn't feel luckier to be wrapped around the same little girl's finger.