Gianna slowly climbs down her stool and runs to him, her eyes laser-focused on the McDonald's take-out bag in his hand. "Keith! Did you get me hash browns?"
"Would I ever forget hash browns for you? Of course, I got them." Keith hands the bag to her with a chuckle.
My daughter's little arms wrap around it and she carries it to me, the bag too big for her frame. I take it from her and place it on the island where she proceeds to rummage inside the loot.
"Good morning." Keith tilts my lips to him and plants me a chaste kiss.
"Junk food early in the morning? Really? You're spoiling her." I sigh. We've already talked about her dietary needs. She's sensitive to some food and dairy, so feeding her is a challenge. I make her oat milk every two or three days. And as much as possible, I limit take-outs so I can monitor her food intake. One time, she ate eggs from this breakfast place Keith brought us to, and she broke out in hives.
