The little non-strangers in my house

Every day, in little ways, the girls are becoming less and less strangers and more and more a regular, everyday fixture in our lives. Already, I can scarcely recall life without them - it's like I've spent the past ten years raising Emily, and Nikki, and soon, Kayla. The transition has been nearly seamless. Both girls call us "Mommy" and "Daddy" with a great sense of ownership; I can't recall the last time either of us was referred to by first name. Probably sometime in that first week they were here.

Nikki adopted the diminutive parent names first, and that seemed age-appropriate (8-year-olds just have to call their fathers "Daddy" and their mothers "Mommy." It's just a rule). I figured Emily, being only a few short months away from 11, would stick with the "mom" and "dad" she'd first adopted the second day we knew her. It sounded forced at first, of course, but by the time she was with us here for about a week it sounded like she'd been saying it all her life to us. Then, a couple weeks ago, she took a turn towards calling us "Mommy" and "Daddy" just like Nikki.

I now know what you dads out there have always known: nothing, absolutely NOTHING, can compare to coming home after a long day at work and having your children shriek "DADDY!!!" and come running into your arms.