A Toss Up

Okay, so there are some pretty decent reasons that I should completely believe that Kameryn is my baby. Aside from the whole delivery thing, which I was there for, she likes Sesame Street. It might have been a fluke, but on Wednesday we watched AN ENTIRE EPISODE. Me and Kameryn and Isaac were all chilling on the couch learning about the letter R and number 8.
HOWEVER, this morning I have reason to believe Kameryn isn't my baby after all. We went to Einstein's for breakfast this morning, and things started off normally. But then, something a little unsettling happened: Jay decided, for fun, to give Kameryn his pickle. It was cut into fourths, so it was a big, juicy pickle that was hard enough she couldn't break anything off but soft enough she could gnaw on it. We watched her as she first put it into her mouth, and I was thinking about the look on her face when she tasted it and how far she would throw it across the restaraunt. But wait, where was the look of disgust? Why wasn't it thrown against the wall? She tasted it, and then just kept on gumming it like it was delightful. We both stared at her, completely disbelieveing. But she loved it, sucking on one side until it got too soft, and then sucking on the other side. She didn't want us to take it away from her. Why had we waited so long to let her enjoy the salt and vinegar wonder?
So now I have my doubts. How could a baby that likes, no, LOVES pickles actually be my daughter? Who could've let this happen?
And really, we all know the answer: Her dad.