Tuesday - Mom? Oh, yeah. Her.
May. 29th, 2007 12:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreMy father and his wife watched my two-year-old son for a few hours yesterday evening. When Jeff and I came by to pick him up, we tried an experiment. We rang the bell and then stood apart on different sides of my father's front porch to see who our son would run to first. I don't know why we bothered; I always lose at this game.
"Who do you think is here?" I heard That Woman My Father is Married To ask.
"My Daddy!" I heard my son reply.
When the door opened, he ran straight to Jeff without even looking at me. Jeff lifted him in the air and they smiled at each other with mutual adoration. Standing two feet away, I sighed.
How many stretch marks did Jeff get bringing this child into the world? Let me count them: none. How many days did he lay on the couch feeling so nauseated that he could barely move? Not one. How many tubes of blood did he have drawn, and how much ice-cold ultrasound jelly did he have smeared on his belly because he was considered a high risk pregnancy? For me, the answers are "dozens" and "gallons." Jeff's work schedule meant he didn't even have to tag along to any those appointments. Which one of us does our son think hung the moon and tossed buckets of stars across the sky? His father, of course.
Thank goodness I'm not the jealous type.
The first time I noticed my son's preference for Jeff was the day we both showed up to pick him up from his grandparents', and when he saw us both he swerved to dodge me and then swerved back to jump into Jeff's arms. I was mature about it, though.
"You guys suck," was all I said.
"Oh, it doesn't mean anything," said He Who Hung The Moon.
"Did you see that? He zigged and then zagged to avoid me!"
"Well, yeah, he had to zag after he zigged so he could get back on track. It's only logical."
"If he loves us both the same, why not let me be the first one to pick him up?"
"He hardly ever sees me. I'm a treat. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you."
Jeff's work schedule, which has him coming home at midnight, means that our son only sees him two days a week. Jeff checks on him while he sleeps, but the boy isn't aware of this. He only knows that when his father is around every second of his time must be coveted. On the nights Jeff is home, he must read the bedtime stories, and our son must sit on his lap while he does. I am expected to be in the room, but sitting quietly to the side while the two of them bond. If I try to read a story, the boy yanks the book away from me and shoves it at his father.
"I read!" he says.
"I can read it and Daddy can hold you," I try to tell him.
"No!!!! I read!" he says, holding the book under Jeff's face while his voice rises to a high-pitched squeal that only todders can make. His face looks desperate. It means the world to him that his father read to him. He knows that the next night, Jeff won't be there and I will be his only option.
"OK, I'll read it," Jeff says, and the boy snuggles into his chest.
I'm not bragging, but I'm a much better story reader than Jeff is. That doesn't appear to matter. I'm just Mom. I'm always there. My presence is ubiquitous, Jeff's is sporadic. What matters is that Jeff is not just a caretaker; he is a special treat and a hero.
I tease my son about this sometimes. I will put my hand on Jeff's arm and say, "My Daddy?"
My son scowls. "No! My Daddy!"
"Aw, can't we share him?"
"NO! My Daddy!" He runs over and grabs Jeff's leg to claim possession.
"Can I borrow him for a little while?"
Still no deal.
"Can I just play with him when you're not using him?"
As a matter of fact, I cannot.
Once our son was in bed last night, I snuggled up to He Who Hung The Moon, even though I didn't have permission.
"I don't really think y'all suck," I told him.
He kissed the top of my head. "Well, that's good."
I gave him a squeeze. "And I don't care what he says: I'm going to play with you anyway. After all, you were mine first."
"He doesn't have to know," Jeff agreed, "We just won't tell him."
He squeezed me back, still slightly aglow with his status as a hero who hung the moon and put all the twinkling stars in the sky. That sort of thing has a way of going to a man's head, I guess.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Who do you think is here?" I heard That Woman My Father is Married To ask.
"My Daddy!" I heard my son reply.
When the door opened, he ran straight to Jeff without even looking at me. Jeff lifted him in the air and they smiled at each other with mutual adoration. Standing two feet away, I sighed.
How many stretch marks did Jeff get bringing this child into the world? Let me count them: none. How many days did he lay on the couch feeling so nauseated that he could barely move? Not one. How many tubes of blood did he have drawn, and how much ice-cold ultrasound jelly did he have smeared on his belly because he was considered a high risk pregnancy? For me, the answers are "dozens" and "gallons." Jeff's work schedule meant he didn't even have to tag along to any those appointments. Which one of us does our son think hung the moon and tossed buckets of stars across the sky? His father, of course.
Thank goodness I'm not the jealous type.
The first time I noticed my son's preference for Jeff was the day we both showed up to pick him up from his grandparents', and when he saw us both he swerved to dodge me and then swerved back to jump into Jeff's arms. I was mature about it, though.
"You guys suck," was all I said.
"Oh, it doesn't mean anything," said He Who Hung The Moon.
"Did you see that? He zigged and then zagged to avoid me!"
"Well, yeah, he had to zag after he zigged so he could get back on track. It's only logical."
"If he loves us both the same, why not let me be the first one to pick him up?"
"He hardly ever sees me. I'm a treat. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you."
Jeff's work schedule, which has him coming home at midnight, means that our son only sees him two days a week. Jeff checks on him while he sleeps, but the boy isn't aware of this. He only knows that when his father is around every second of his time must be coveted. On the nights Jeff is home, he must read the bedtime stories, and our son must sit on his lap while he does. I am expected to be in the room, but sitting quietly to the side while the two of them bond. If I try to read a story, the boy yanks the book away from me and shoves it at his father.
"I read!" he says.
"I can read it and Daddy can hold you," I try to tell him.
"No!!!! I read!" he says, holding the book under Jeff's face while his voice rises to a high-pitched squeal that only todders can make. His face looks desperate. It means the world to him that his father read to him. He knows that the next night, Jeff won't be there and I will be his only option.
"OK, I'll read it," Jeff says, and the boy snuggles into his chest.
I'm not bragging, but I'm a much better story reader than Jeff is. That doesn't appear to matter. I'm just Mom. I'm always there. My presence is ubiquitous, Jeff's is sporadic. What matters is that Jeff is not just a caretaker; he is a special treat and a hero.
I tease my son about this sometimes. I will put my hand on Jeff's arm and say, "My Daddy?"
My son scowls. "No! My Daddy!"
"Aw, can't we share him?"
"NO! My Daddy!" He runs over and grabs Jeff's leg to claim possession.
"Can I borrow him for a little while?"
Still no deal.
"Can I just play with him when you're not using him?"
As a matter of fact, I cannot.
Once our son was in bed last night, I snuggled up to He Who Hung The Moon, even though I didn't have permission.
"I don't really think y'all suck," I told him.
He kissed the top of my head. "Well, that's good."
I gave him a squeeze. "And I don't care what he says: I'm going to play with you anyway. After all, you were mine first."
"He doesn't have to know," Jeff agreed, "We just won't tell him."
He squeezed me back, still slightly aglow with his status as a hero who hung the moon and put all the twinkling stars in the sky. That sort of thing has a way of going to a man's head, I guess.
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no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 06:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 08:00 pm (UTC)I was touched. Then I realized that he knew Jeff would go back to work and disappear again, and he would need me to take care of him. So it might be love, or it could just mean that he's a pragmatic kid.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 07:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 07:28 pm (UTC)"We just won't tell him."
Date: 2007-05-29 07:53 pm (UTC)Re: "We just won't tell him."
Date: 2007-05-30 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 09:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-30 09:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 09:18 pm (UTC)At least we each have a child... I was so glad to have Camie since Elycia was such a daddy's girl... I used to be sort of Jealous.
But Camie makes up for it. "My momma!!!" Well I'm Elycia and Jen's mommy too... "NO ONLY MINE!!!" *melt*
no subject
Date: 2007-05-30 09:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-30 09:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-30 04:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-30 09:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-30 09:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-30 10:00 pm (UTC)i feel your pain. my boy says "dada" constantly, and has said "mama" maybe twice. ever. it hurts!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-31 03:17 am (UTC)