Yesterday afternoon, I went to give Edan a kiss goodbye, and she recoiled -- like normal -- because she wants me to "wash off" my beard. But then, as I went to set her down and walk out the door, she stopped me, pushed back my baseball cap, and gave me a little kiss on the forehead.

I like this phase.

Because we've been through crappier times -- when Edan got in the habit of asking for her mom whenever she was bored, upset, or frustrated that I wouldn't let her walk through the supermarket in bare feet with seven stuffed animals in tow. Sure, it seems innocuous -- blah blah, that's what kids do. But when you worked 'till 2 a.m the past 8,000 nights in a row (because time with your darling offspring cuts the normal workday in half), and you're exhausted, cranky, and pissed at the world, your child's incessant requests to be with another parent make your life feel -- for a moment -- like some cruel and pointless comedy, where you're the butt of every joke. (Of course then Edan laughs, or says something hysterical, and I, like many fabled fathers before me, am on a heroic quest through dad-dom once again.)

It's to the point where -- as much as I'm ashamed to admit it -- I'm glad to see other kids screaming "MOMMY! MOMMY!" at their frustrated fathers, who, lacking an escape route, are forced to explain that mommy is in the car, at home, or in the cereal aisle, in front of the gaggle of concerned onlookers (who can't help but grin, shake their heads, and quietly affirm their unspoken belief that men are hopeless with children). I feel for that dad -- but I also feel normal, and relieved that Edan's calls for her mother aren't an indication that our peculiar household dynamic is giving her therapy fodder for decades to come. Phew!

But recently Edan and I have been best buds. Comrades. A pair of valiant travelers on life's great adventure -- hurrah! She hugs me for no reason, stops running around the park just to tell me she loves me, and even gets upset when I drop her off in the afternoon -- just because she doesn't want me to leave! These days, we make it through most meltdowns -- I'm talkin' big, bonked-my-head-on-the-kitchen-table, snotty, screaming, crying meltdowns -- and she only asks for me.

My mid-20s-something narcissism begs me to believe that this shift is due to my parenting genius, rendering me Father of the Year times a million. However, the truth is that it's probably only temporary.

And we'll go through this cycle of ups and downs over and over again until one day, my biggest fears will come true, and a teenage Edan will tell me it's my fault she's unhappy -- because I wasn't there for her. Or never said the right things. Or just wasn't good enough as a father. I'll take a deep breath, bite my lip, and remember her as a toddler -- believing, for a moment, that my pointless comedy had taken a tragic turn.

But that, too, will be only temporary.

Meanwhile, she'll burst through the door at daycare, calling "Daddy, DADDY!" every afternoon. We'll spend our days wasting time in the best possible way, with every hour full of the kind of moments you're supposed to remember for the rest of your life.

It can't be like this forever -- but for now, it's perfect.