Is there anything less dignified, more damaging to the self-esteem, or more pointless than competing for the attention and affections of a 20-month old child? Apart, obviously, from appearing as a contestant on a reality television program? I don’t think there is.

Everyone tells me it’s completely normal for kids to go through phases of preferring one parent over the other, and it’s true; I’ve seen our two do it. Sometimes they’d switch on and off, so one week Julian would insist that only Mama could give him his bottle before bed, and the next week, it had to be Daddy. Still, knowing that it’s happened before, and knowing that it will end, and knowing that it’s so common doesn’t change how infuriating and, yes, heartbreaking it is when you’re the dispreferred parent.

The past few weeks have been the worst in a while. Both kids have been sick, and they seem to have decided that while Mama generates loving waves of peaceful healing, Daddy is covered in acid-tipped spikes. It’s worse than ever before because now they’re talking. It’s one thing for them to cry and fuss and twist around when I pick them up; it’s something entirely different when they cry and slap and shout, “No! No Daddy!”

As a result, I look for ways to maximize their affection. I’ve started angling to do pick up, rather than drop off, at day care, because they are ecstatic to see whoever’s coming to get them at the end of the day. “That’s right, children. Shower me with your love. Not literally, Eloise. Can I have a tissue, please?”

Most of the time, I have the maturity and presence of mind to take it in stride. I know that they’re basically irrational little beasties whose moods and preferences change by the minute. Sometimes, though, it stings. It’s unpleasantly humbling to have your feelings hurt by your child. There have been times when I’ve sullenly parked both wailing, ungrateful snots on their mother’s lap and stormed off to sulk. Way to go, Daddy.

In another example of my exceptional maturity, the times when they do request me over my wife feel like Olympic-level victories. I may be guilty of actually pumping my fist once after Julian said, “No no mommy!” and crawled into my lap. Ha! In your face, HONEY!

The upside, if you can call it that, is tbecause she’s been sick, Eloise has been waking up in the middle of the night. My attempts to console her have been met with apocalyptic shrieking so I’ve had to regretfully concede middle-of-the night duty to my wife. “I’d totally go and get her, honey, but you know she really wants you. Zzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

The whole thing is karmic payback, of course. My dad never tires of telling the story of when I was about two or three years old, and started crying in the middle of the night, and he walked in and leaned over my bed, and I looked up and said, “Not YOU!” He seems to have gotten over it, so I’m sure I will, too.

~Matt~

This entry was posted on Monday, August 9th, 2010 at 8:47 am and is filed under Parenting Lifestyle. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can trackback from your own site.