I nodded in agreement. Ted is a terrific dad, but did Lauren prefer him to me? I told myself I was being foolish. The whole notion of a daddy’s girl seemed old-fashioned. And besides, Lauren is a toddler — her whims are unpredictable at best.
I didn’t think of the conversation again, until my husband returned from a business trip. Lauren couldn’t get enough of him. She clung to him, kissed him and patted his back. When I tried to join in for a group hug, she pushed me away, appearing perturbed by the intrusion. What was this? Has she forgotten I carried her for nine months? Nursed her for nearly a year? I hadn’t felt this kind of rejection since high school, when my biggest crush announced I wasn’t cool enough for him to date.
The new “daddy” phase took a bit of getting used to, and my feelings ranged from the rational “better she’s going through this now when I’m pregnant,” to the nonsensical “I’ve lost my maternal abilities.”
Somehow, though, I was able to turn a corner. Ted took on more of the daily baby business while my belly and I took a break. Diaper changes, baths and frequent treks up and down the stairs were all in Ted’s hands. I told myself this was OK, soon enough I’d be nursing nonstop and getting three to four hours of sleep a night. Lauren had gifted me with a little downtime.
I was doing great until Lauren decided to call her father, “Mama.” This latest turn of events came at the same time we were visiting family for my grandfather’s 90th birthday.
My mother, flabbergasted by Lauren’s cries when Ted left the room, said, “I have never seen a girl so attached to her father. He must take care of her more than you.” Ouch.
And then there was my aunt, who complete with a “poor you” expression, said, “She really goes for Ted. How does that make you feel?” I told her I thought it was just a phase, but in truth, my self-esteem was wilting by the minute.
Getting past that trip home will probably require years of therapy. Fortunately I have wise friends who remind me that the mother-daughter relationship is in a constant state of flux. For now, I enjoy the moments when Lauren laughs at my goofy songs or pats my belly in the middle of the supermarket, realizing that I’m her mom no matter what.
Jennifer Hazard lives and writes in Yarmouth.