It happened the other day. We were grocery shopping, and he started to get very agitated and kick his legs. I asked him what was wrong, and he said, “Mama move. Daddy push.” I wasn’t allowed within three feet of the cart handle. Then, we went out for lunch. I tried to get him out of the car. He thrashed around and said, “No! Daddy get me out.” My baby doesn’t want me anymore.
This may not seem like that big of a deal. It’s normal for a boy to want to be with his dad. He doesn’t see his dad as much as he sees me because of my husband’s hours, so I expect him to run to the door as soon as he hears his dad’s truck hit the gravel on our driveway and yell, “Daddy hooooome! HI, DADDY! HI, DADDY!” There are nights when he sits in his own chair for two whole minutes before he has to be on his dad’s lap to eat supper. It’s like he can’t get close enough to my husband sometimes. I think it’s adorable (and, there seriously is nothing sexier about my husband than when he’s balancing our two year old on his lap, cutting meat into tiny bites, and trying to eat his own supper all at the same time), and every time that I see my husband sharing these moments with our boys I know that I picked the right man with whom to have these amazing boys.
But, now that our son chooses his dad over me every single time, I’m starting to feel those pangs of knowing that he’s growing up. Our baby is our last baby, and he’s not such a baby anymore. He fell down the other day but didn’t come running to me for a hug and a Mommy Kiss. I don’t baby our boys and I don’t make a fuss every time they fall down, but he fell hard, and that’s usually when he needs me. Not that time. I had to grip the armrest of the couch to stop myself from going over to him and forcing him to hug me, just to make myself feel better. Hug me, dammit! Don’t you know you’re still supposed to NEED me?
I never wanted more than two children. And, when we weren’t even sure if we’d be able to have one child, I thought two seemed like an impossible dream. Now that it’s a reality, two really is a good number. It makes dining out in booths made for four just perfect. It makes traveling in the car much simpler. It cuts down on Disney World hotel rates, from what I’ve heard. At this point, I don’t know if we’re EVER going to make it to Disney, but that’s a subject for another post. With two kids, they can’t gang up on my husband and me. My husband bathes one while I put clothes away with the other one, and I get jammies on one while my husband bathes the remaining one. Two-on-two works for pillow fights and dodgeball and waterballoon fights and everything else we do on our crazy nights together. So, having two kids works perfectly…
… until the two kids grow up and there aren’t any more babies left. For the past five years, there’s been a baby who wants and needs his Mama. When the bigger one started to need me less, the second one appeared. I always had someone to snuggle, someone to hold, someone to kiss and hug and mother. The pain of the bigger one always wanting to be with my mom and even proposing moving into my parents’ house so he doesn’t have to say goodbye to them was less severe because I knew our baby still loved me most. And now he doesn’t. What the Hell?
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