My little girl must be held, or looked directly at, sung to, and played with at all times. By me. She will not nap. She will not play independently, or sleep independently, or be coddled by others. Yes, she loves Daddy. Particularly she loves Daddy from the comfort of Mama’s arms.
And then there is the case of the big brother. His express desire is that Mama return to work and Daddy stay home all day instead. And in some alter universe where my shoddy qualifications magically turn into gainful employment and daddies produce breast milk, this may be an option that would work for our family. Ours is not that world. And at any rate, that world would only make one of our kids happy at a time.
Now, I should be thrilled that my little guy is so fond of his daddy. After all, the preference stands as testimony to what a great guy my husband is. At home, he is one hundred percent available. He is watching all the National Geographic Dinosaur specials; cuddling, fetching snacks, playing Boggle and Candyland and all the fun things that I don’t seem to get around to during the day. Shoot, I’d want Daddy home instead of me, too. Daddy is a barrel of fun. I am more like a jug of milk and a load of dishes.
I should also be thrilled that my little girl is soooo fond of me. Clutching and clawing and wailing in desperation kind of fond. I should just eat it up. Because it is temporary. I know this for sure because I also have teenagers. And they aren’t particularly fond of Mama or Daddy. They prefer friends, acquaintances, strangers, Doritos, and technological devices. And the three year old brother, the one who really only loves Daddy and Dinosaurs–he used to be pretty crazy about me too.
My time will come again. And my clip on bear of a baby will become a Daddy’s Girl. That’s how it goes. For now, at least my husband and I get to bask in the glory of being a Favorite. Yup, for now. For these wee ones, we are all that and a bag of chips.