Not the Daddy

Ah baby dinosaurs and just really good out-of-the-box (think Kraft-style) TV sitcoms. Remember the show The Dinosaurs? Came out in the mid 90’s? Sort of, but not really? In the show (which was about, as you might guess, a modern day family of dinosaurs) everyone, even the Dad Dinosaur, was referred to as “Not the Mama” by the baby.

So, in our household, we’re having a bit of a reverse situation.

There is a beautiful tear-jerking ballad of a love story happening between two of the members of household: our 15-month-old toothy little toddler and her daddy. And I don’t blame either one of them. I snicker at web-reads that refer today at the “nurturing dad” of this century. I joke that G has not 1 but 2 mamas. I actually find myself at the gym on most weekends, out to dinner occasionally with girlfriends, and pondering the occasional pedicure. Not sacrificing the precious minutes I have with my G and her daddy, either... and although I still marvel at the mystery, it really isn’t a mystery at all. My mystery has a name, M, and he happens to be more like a scrubs-wearing dude driving his grandma’s old volvo than a knight in shining armor. But wow, did I pick the right door.

So another part of the marvel is how smart my little is, because she gets it, too. Like “hey, I’m a pretty lucky little to have this guy as my daddy.” She totally gets how great he is! And yes, she also gets how great her Mama is, but oh that gleam in her eye is for Daddy. I remember reading a babycenter.com bit about what to do if a baby clearly has a preference for one parent over the other, and thinking, oh, poor M, I hope G never does that; I would feel so bad for him (because clearly she will always prefer me). Of course, right? I mean pregnancy, delivery, breast-feeding simply must go a long way! At least till she’s like 11, and then all girls have a bit of a shall-we-say “vacation” from remembering how great their mothers are, right?

Well, as for now, I am pretty great, by G’s standards, I am, but then there’s Daddy. It’s like he’s her team in the superbowl, and she’s always rooting. And I’ve been, shall we say, “snubbed” a few times by our little, and not always in private. She practically ran me over to get to him when we both showed up to at daycare to pick her up a few weeks ago. Sometimes, if I lean in to nuzzle her, when she is already nuzzling Daddy, her fat little arm will come out and wave back and forth, as though she is holding a chalkboard eraser and wants to erase me. Ah, I laugh.

So, a little addendum to that babycenter.com post: if you are that parent, the “other” parent, the forlorn, slightly cast aside parent, know that you very likely chose your partner very well. Your little knows that too, and probably also basks in your unconditional love so much that her excitement for you is just masked by her never-ending feeling of being loved and being protected by you. Your partner may be the the moon and all the excitement and mystery it brings, but you are like the tide, always to be counted on to rush up and over with love.

I hope that analogy brought more sighs than groans; all I know is that every time I feel like I get a “Not the Daddy” treatment from my little, I think, “hey, I can’t blame you. I think he’s pretty great, too!”

Hun, I got my orders.

Ever got the wind knocked out of you? Remember falling off jungle gyms as a kid? That’s what those words just felt like to me. That feeling of having to will yourself to breathe again, to force your heart to start beating again.

And I knew these words were coming. I’ve known for so long; months, even more than a year. M was always going to deploy, some time after fellowship, and hopefully before too long so that he could be home with us again. You know, get it out of the way.

We’ve also known, for a few weeks now, that what we thought would be a summer deployment got moved up, thanks to another doctor who was supposed to leave this February but was medically disqualified for deployment and failed to tell anyone about it... (Yes, many questions about this person, the reason, the situation, and why the “system” didn’t know about it will forever remain unanswered.) But we’ve known that M was going to go, and going sooner means coming home sooner. So, day by day, we’ve waited, inched along and tried to pretend like everything was as it always has been, though now we were beginning lists of what has to happen before he leaves (household fixes, extending our lease, filling out all kinds of legal paperwork, and finding childcare coverage for work trips and evening responsibilities that I thought M would be here for).

But to hear those words. To see the jibberish that is the actual written orders; it’s just not the same as before, when you thought maybe, just maybe, this was all some conversation. Not your life, your loved one.

So, if you're reading this, please do something for me. Let’s all put aside politics and idealogies and for one moment, take a deep breath, and embrace each other (at least virtually) for all those moments when news like this is delivered. We've all been or will be there. It is so powerful, feels so final, and is so solemn.

And let’s fast forward to another day, when I will be writing an eekonward post entitled, “Homecoming.”