*stops trying to make sense of your babbling about halfway through, because what's the point? he can practically see your brain working, trying to sugar-coat all of it for your own sanity*
I'm grateful. For her.
*makes a motion like a shrug and will not tell you that your daughter is a diamond, that he adores her no less than his first love, that he would drop everything for her at a moment's notice if she said she needed him to (although she never does)*
*rather patronizingly* Drink your drink. Go home to your safe little world. I don't know how it works in your novels— *nods toward your purse, indicating the ones that you read* —but babies don't solve any problems in real life.