I like to
trap Dylan in his room by placing a baby gate in his doorway. It’s a great way of
tricking him into thinking he has a lot more freedom than he actually does
(door closed=the ultimate betrayal), while limiting the stress that comes with
him exploring every square inch of the house. So each day I sit him on my lap
while I put the gate in place, I let him play with shake it to ensure its
snug, and then we excitedly enter his room where we play, laugh, and act silly.
We are both completely satisfied and content with our in-room activities until the
front door opens and closes- then it’s game over. Daddys home.
The second
Dylan hears that front door shut he shoots me a nasty glare that loosely
translates to, “Dad’s home? OMG DAD, SAVE ME!” Then he races towards the gate
attempting to climb over it with all of his might, as if he’s a prisoner with
one shot at pulling off the perfect escape. He calls out for dad and waits for
a sign, any noise or vision that will prove he has arrived. He’s desperate but
I don’t understand why- I thought we were having so much fun!
Dylan’s love
for me is super evident- when Dad’s not around. Because when he is, I’m just
that lady that keeps getting denied membership in the team daddy club. No
kisses, no hugs, just what’s required- no extras. My role on center stage is instantly
replaced by the mega celebrity that is Dad, and I’m left in the dust playing understudy.
It’s all good when I want a little space, and I’m certainly not complaining that
he holds his pops in such high esteem. But when dad tries to pass the kid off,
my pipe dreams of having a mama’s boy are proven to indeed be pipe dreams, as
he turns away and squirms, pleading for “anything but mommy.” And it doesn’t
sting, it just blows my mind. Mommys fun too! Remember?
