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!”