Daddy's Little Girl... Someday, Probably
May 1, 2007
Posted by andrew |
All the manuals (you did get one when you signed the papers at the hospital, right?) tell of children, especially little girls, moving away from the mommy-fixated state and glomming onto daddy at some point. I don't know when this point is, but it's definitely not at the age of 16 months. Our daughter is still firmly fixated on mommy, no matter how hard I try to be the Wonderful Parent. Like all Wonderful Parents, I take one for the team on occasion and assume Sole Childcare Provider duties for a time so my wife can take off and go do the things she does when she's not encumbered by two small children. When this happens, Acute Mommy Fixation rears it's ugly head.
It's gotten better lately. Sort of. Perhaps not better; just different. The full-tilt cry-until-you-turn-purple-and-look-like-you're-going-to-explode displays are a thing of the past. The new weapon is... the guilt trip. Take, for example, this incident that occurred just yesterday evening, when my wife went out for a walk with our 4-year-old:
Baby (In that tone of voice that implies a question): "Mama?"
Me: "Mommy's gone for a walk."
Baby (with a look of confusion, turning to panic): "Mama!?"
Me: "She'll be back. Relax."
Baby then proceeds to mope back and forth to the front door chanting plaintively "Mama, mama, mama..." and pointing at the door. Repeat as necessary. I start to feel somewhat guilty, although on further thought I can't think of anything offhand I should feel guilty about. This is followed by intermittent sobbing and general misery on small child's part. I feel kind of bad, but then get over it when I realize that this performance is really worthy of an Academy Award. I laugh. Big mistake. Full wobbly meltdown time has arrived.
Fortunately, this has happened enough times that I know that distraction works miracles. I manage to calm her down and tell her "Let's read a book. Go get a book." She scrambles over to the bookcase and looks around. "Find a book and bring it here for us to read." This elicits a chorus of rapidly-repeated "Find find find find find find" (which is a new word), and the book-reading cycle begins. We did manage to get two before my wife came back. She actually brought me my copy of Chretien de Troyes' Perceval, or the Story of the Grail, which I, being a good sport, began to read, but she soon grew impatient with Chretien's praise of Frederick, Duke of Flanders, and of course heard her mom come in and made a beeline for the front door. "MAMA!!!"
It's gotten better lately. Sort of. Perhaps not better; just different. The full-tilt cry-until-you-turn-purple-and-look-like-you're-going-to-explode displays are a thing of the past. The new weapon is... the guilt trip. Take, for example, this incident that occurred just yesterday evening, when my wife went out for a walk with our 4-year-old:
Baby (In that tone of voice that implies a question): "Mama?"
Me: "Mommy's gone for a walk."
Baby (with a look of confusion, turning to panic): "Mama!?"
Me: "She'll be back. Relax."
Baby then proceeds to mope back and forth to the front door chanting plaintively "Mama, mama, mama..." and pointing at the door. Repeat as necessary. I start to feel somewhat guilty, although on further thought I can't think of anything offhand I should feel guilty about. This is followed by intermittent sobbing and general misery on small child's part. I feel kind of bad, but then get over it when I realize that this performance is really worthy of an Academy Award. I laugh. Big mistake. Full wobbly meltdown time has arrived.
Fortunately, this has happened enough times that I know that distraction works miracles. I manage to calm her down and tell her "Let's read a book. Go get a book." She scrambles over to the bookcase and looks around. "Find a book and bring it here for us to read." This elicits a chorus of rapidly-repeated "Find find find find find find" (which is a new word), and the book-reading cycle begins. We did manage to get two before my wife came back. She actually brought me my copy of Chretien de Troyes' Perceval, or the Story of the Grail, which I, being a good sport, began to read, but she soon grew impatient with Chretien's praise of Frederick, Duke of Flanders, and of course heard her mom come in and made a beeline for the front door. "MAMA!!!"
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