Coming in second

I read that Jonathon Morgan at BloggingBaby was bothered by his daughter favoring her Mom.  I was able to relate.  For a long time my son, Benjamin, totally preferred Mom when she was around.  Yes, mothers have a special bond with their children.  My wife gave birth to our son and nursed him, thankfully, for a long time.  Nonetheless, since I am a stay-at-home dad, I was sometimes surprised by his pronounced favoritism.  It didn’t bother me at first, but when it continued for a year or two, I began to have concerns and doubt myself a little.

When I was home alone with him, he would treat me very nicely.  He wasn’t that affectionate most of the time.  But he always talked to me a lot, wanted my attention, and always wanted to stay in the same room as me.  As soon as my wife came home, though, it was all her.

“Do you want me to read you this story?”
“I want Mama to read it to me.”

“Here, I’ll put your coat on.”
“I’ll wait for Mama to put it on.”

“Do you want to go to the library with Dada or stay home with Mama?”
“I’ll stay with Mama.”

“Do you want to go to DisneyWorld with Dada or scrub the floor with Mama?”
“Scrub with Mama.”

OK, that last one never happened.  Nevertheless, even if he hurt himself, and my wife was at the the other end of the house, he would wait until she could come comfort him.  Instinctively, I would say, “Ohhhh, are you OK???” He would have nothing of it, “Don’t SAY that.  I need Mama.” This was the same boy who insisted on my comfort and “Dada kisses” when it was just the two of us.  It got to the point where if he was hurt I would just run the other way and get my wife, or else I knew he would just “get worse.”

At first I told myself, it’s only natural.  In addition to the special mother-child bond, when Mom comes home from work, it’s exciting.  I’m here all the time.  I’m like the wallpaper.  After a while, though, I began to question whether I was doing something wrong as a dad.  I began to feel very reactionary about the stay-at-home dad thing.  I had once had nothing but pride in being an at-home parent; I had once carried it as a mark of a caring dad and an open-minded person.  But my doubts began to undermine this attitude.  I wondered if being an at-home dad was no more than an ill-fated, post-modern experiment based upon foolish ideals and economic convenience.  That judgement I could accept.  If the cost, however, was to be my son’s psychological health and our relationship, the result would only be sadness.  He should be, I began to think, with his mother full-time and his dad part-time — the traditional family of yore.  Had I deprived him of this basic need?

Despite these doubts, I was patient and carefully persistent.  I noticed myself sometimes avoiding being very affectionate with Benjamin for fear of pushing it on him.  But memories of my own upbringing reminded me that this could cause problems.  So I began to make sure to hug, kiss and snuggle him — when I sensed he would accept it, even if he was not enthusiastic.  I used humor and play to encourage affection, which approach always opened him up.

My wife would tell me that if I was gone, he would ask about me often and would want to tell me so many things.  This always made me feel good.  And yet was I to be the “verbal” guy, the “how to” guy?  Stay-at-home or not, Dad should do some of the emotional nurturing.

I can’t say there was a gradual improvement.  Mama was still the clear favorite.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, not too long after he turned four, he began to treat me as if he needed and liked me as much as Mom.  He also became much more affectionate with me.  And it’s been that way ever since.

Now when my wife is home, he will often choose to do things with just me.  He asks me for hugs.  Just the other day, we were at the grocery store and Benjamin was waiting next to me as I was picking out an item.  He said, “Düds?” (He calls us “Müms" and “Düds” now.) I distractedly said, “Yes?” He said, out of nowhere, as he does often now, “I love you.” As I told him I loved him too, a grandmotherly stranger, just down the aisle smiled at us.  It was one of the moments when I knew things were different now, that it had been worth the worry, the patience and the persistence.

I glanced back at the woman with a smile that must have meant, “Yes, life is good now.”