I’d been in denial, refusing to believe. But, I knew my place had been determined when the Peanut fell on the sidewalk and scraped her knee. A few steps behind her, I squatted down and held my arms open to comfort her. And… she ran past me, crashing into D’s legs, begging him for comfort and kisses.
Let me make that clear. My child, in a time of distress, ran past me. PAST me. She had to actually dodge one of my open arms to do so. All so she could get to her daddy. Traitor. Do you have any idea the hell I went through with your pregnancy? I ‘niced’ things up for the blog here. You have no idea.
I try not to take it personally that when I go to pick the Peanut up from daycare she’s usually like, “Oh, its you again. Alright. (sigh). Let me just finish organizing these blocks and I guess I’ll go with you.” But when D comes in the front door at the end of the day its running, hugging, squealing shrieks of happiness and “Daddy!” Like, I had no idea the second coming of Christ happened at 6pm every weeknight.
Okay. Maybe I’m taking it a little personally.
But I try really really hard not to because it’s just so heart-meltingly sweet to watch them together. D will sit with the Peanut on his lap, facing each other, and the Peanut will take off or put on his baseball cap. She’ll bury her fingers in his beard and they will give each other smacking kisses. She’ll randomly shout, “hug!” and throw her arms around his neck.
And I know these things come and go. D is the favorite this month and then I’ll be the favorite next month. (Although I would swear that D’s “months” are longer than my “months.”) And I have Ms. B. I think I’m Ms. B’s preference, right?
EXCEPT that Ms. B. recently told me that she prefers shopping with D over me. What!?! Traitor. This is outrageous. I know I’m more tight-fisted than D, but he’s more “Oh hell no, those shorts are too short,” and isn’t that more annoying to deal with as a pre-teen? No? Did I mention how difficult my pregnancy with you was?
I think it’s because D is the chaos muppet and I’m the order muppet. And they’re children. And children prefer the chaos muppet over the order muppet. I mean, really, what self-respecting child chooses Bert over Ernie?
And here is about the point in this post where I start to realize how unhealthy this whole inner-monologue is. Because it’s not a competition, silly. Love is not finite, there’s enough to go around, and how lucky are the girls to have D in their lives, blah blah blah.
Girls. You’re on notice. I demand fawning adoration the next time I walk into the room. Anything less will result in my abject disappointment.