As Deep As A Stack of Pancakes

This morning I came downstairs to see that my wife had made pancakes. Somehow, while still sick and sleep-deprived, she managed to wake up early with the kids, feed them, and let me sleep in. But there was still a stack of pancakes for me. No sooner had I sat down to eat, then my little girl came up to me, looked at me with her big brown eyes, held out her arms, and said, "Daddy Daddy." My wife clued me in that my little girl wanted to sit on my lap while I ate. I looked at my little girl and said, "I'm sorry sweetie. I can't eat and hold you at the same time." Then tears welled up in her eyes, and she began to cry. I couldn't resist; I gave in. She sat sweetly on my lap as I ate pancake after pancake until there were only two left.  As soon as I started on the next pancake, quick as a flash she snatched the last one, ate it, and hopped off of my lap. It finally dawned on me that I had been charmed by a master con artist. She loves me, I know, but apparently her love for me is only as deep as a stack of pancakes sometimes. At least she took my dishes back to the sink for me.