Page 109 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

Maggie giggles. “Daddy, ugly.”

Two-year-old honesty is brutal.

I scrunch my nose together, widen my eyes, and stick my tongue out, adding to the ugliness.

Maggie’s head falls back with more bubbly giggles.

“Let’s get some pictures of the whole family,” one photographer shouts.

Jenna straightens from her spot by her star, looking over at me and Maggie.

I pull her little hands off my cheeks. “It’s Maggie’s turn for princess pictures.”

She wiggles out of my lap and runs to Jenna, hopping and stomping on the star. The photographers love this, and a million more snaps and clicks go off.

I stand and turn to Trey, who’s holding Dawson.

“Are you ready for this handoff?” Trey gently places the newborn into my arms, eliciting oohs and ahhs from the watching crowd.

I walk to Jenna, wondering if it would be inappropriate to hold my one-month-old baby in the air like Simba. As tempting as my own personal Lion King moment is, I opt for keeping the infant tucked in the crook of my arm.

“I feel like I’m leaking breast milk,” she says into my ear when I sidle up next to her. “Will you check?”

My lips lift. “I would love to look at your chest. You don’t have to ask me twice.”

She nudges my side with a playful laugh.

“I’m kidding.” I take a discreet look down, then flip my gaze back to her face with a subtle shake of my head.

“Oh, thank goodness. Can you imagine those pictures?” Jenna takes Dawson from my arms, positioning him forward for the cameras.

I guess I’m on Maggie duty.

I reach my hand out to the toddler as if that’s going to be an effective strategy for reigning in the strong-willed child. “Come by Daddy.”

The watching crowd laughs as she ignores my pleas, starting up every parent’s least favorite game: You can’t catch me. I didn’t even know this game existed, which is crazy since every child seems to be an expert at it.

“Maggie, sweetheart,” Jenna tries. “Come smile at the cameras.”

Maggie shakes her head, bouncing her blonde curls.

I dive forward, grabbing her arm. “Gotcha!” She laughs at first, and I feel like the best dad ever for getting her without a big scene. I hold her on my hip, pointing to the cameras.

“Kneel! Kneel!” the photographers shout.

Jenna and I obey, crouching down in front of the star.

“No!” Maggie whines and presses against my hold.

“Oh, no. She’s not having it.” Jenna laughs as cameras snap and capture the beginnings of my toddler’s meltdown.

I don’t know what to do. Do I make her stay for family pictures in front of the star at the risk of screaming and crying, or do I let her free? This is literally my worst nightmare.

“I’d like to trade,” I say to Jenna as I wrestle Maggie. “How about I take the newborn that doesn’t move?”

Jenna smiles back at me with an amused look. “You’re doing great.”

Doing great?

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