I have a little bit of a bone to pick with my son. Namely, he's a jerk. For whatever reason the doting, the feeding, the playing and the attention I provide is miniscule in comparison to whatever his dad does. Though I may be his loving mother who does nothing but treat him like the golden child I believe him to be, if his dad is around I am merely chopped liver that stinks up the room and he would prefer that I take a hike and let boys club commence. REALLY?
I've always known dad was the favorite but I didn't realize just how much he was ahead in the polls until the last few days when Dylan had both of us to himself. My husband thinks Dylan's parental preference is hilarious and eats it up like Thanksgiving dinner. He will pick up Dizbaby and insist I put my hands out and say, "let's go!" And each time I do Dylan holds my husband tight and rests his head on his shoulder while giving me his back, uninterested in going anywhere with Mommy. But when the roles are reversed and I have Dylan in my arms and dad puts his hands out and utters "let's go," Dizbaby jumps at the opportunity and literally pushes off my body to lunge toward dad. Uhm...REALLY? It is quite possible that I have the meanest baby in the world, who repeatedly demonstrates that he favors dad over mom.
The bone that I have to pick with Dylan is apparently the same bone he throws me when Dad isn't around. Because when there are no other options I am option number 1. And though I am boiling with jealousy...I will happily take Dad's sloppy seconds. Dylan might not be Team Mommy but I am definitely Team Dizbaby.
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