My child is a total daddy’s boy.  100%.  When Colin and I are together one on one, or even with other friends and family when his dad isn’t around, it’s not plainly obvious.  He is still affectionate with me, gives hugs and kisses, and is generally on the clingy side with me when faced with new people, settings or situations.  The moment daddy enters the room, however, Colin’s affections clearly drift to his obvious preference, the main man in his life, his Dada.

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When Dada is in the room, my arms are of no interest to him.  I am not the first choice for bedtime, for milk before nap, for fun and games or for comfort.  The hugs are for Dada, his eyes are always tracking Dada’s location in the room, and the giggles and smiles disappear when he steps out of the room, even for a quick trip to the bathroom.

I know this is totally textbook, that I have done nothing to deserve the role of second place parent, that it is not a judgement of my parenting as worse or of Mr. Confetti’s as better.  If anything, I should have expected it.  As Colin’s primary caregiver, I spend copious amounts of time with him – he sees me nearly every waking moment – whereas his time with dad is limited.  Forty minutes on weekday mornings, no time together on weeknights, and of course, on weekends as much as his workload allows.  As such, it’s no surprise that Colin’s time with his father is precious, not just to him but to both of them.

Clearly, my head understands it.  And at first, I actually enjoyed it.  On weekends, I got a huge dose of relief for my biceps.  It made me so incredibly happy to watch my boys interact with each other, to see them play and giggle, roughhouse and romp on the floor.  At family get-togethers, I could eat my meal without interruption since Colin was firmly lodged in daddy’s arms, unwilling to part with his Dada.  My head, you see, was happy.

But my heart, which started out fine, began to hurt.  While it was cute to see Colin snuggled in his dad’s arms, it was another thing entirely to pick him up only to have him attempt to launch himself out of my arms toward his dad.  For him to sob as his dad left for work.  For him to whine and chant “Dada” outside the bathroom door while his mama was right there, ready to play with him, waiting with open arms.  The digs started to sting.

For weeks and weeks, this continued.  And continued.  And continued.

Then just this week, when I felt like it was never going to end, we took a family trip to a local museum.  I dropped Mr. Confetti and the little man off at the front door and went to park my car.  I figured that the two of them would head in and get settled and check their coats while I parked, but when I walked over from the parking lot, there they were, standing in the cold.  I was confused.  Mr. Confetti told me that when I dropped them off, Colin started crying as he watched the car drive away, chanting, “Mommy, mommy.”

While I am certainly never happy to hear that my munchkin is upset, I can’t lie when I say I was also a little bit excited.  That day, Colin insisted that Dada play with him in the museum play space. That Dada look at each display with him.  That Dada carry him as we hustled back to the car.  But inside the museum, with Dada in plain sight, Colin let me hold his hand as he toddled down the hall.  Not me and Dada, just me.

It seems silly, to be excited to hold the hand of a child who holds your hand each day.  But I was.

Does your LO have a strong preference for one parent?  Is that parent you or your partner, and how does it make you feel?

Parental Preference part 2 of 3

1. Three Ways to Counter a Toddler's Mommy Preference by Mr. Bee
2. When Dad is Clearly the Favorite by Mrs. Confetti
3. Battling Parental Preference by Mrs. Garland