DISCLAIMER: This is a letter I wrote to my son for the sole purpose of putting his recent affections on record. As you'll probably recall, Dylan was born disappointed that his mom is female. He's a boy's boy through and through and though it may sound dramatic, I'm not trying to oversell the fact that he's barely tolerated my existence.
------
Dear Dylan,
You’ve been my son for nearly 2 years, during which you’ve taught me the cruelest lesson ever: just because I have a son, doesn’t mean I have a momma’s boy (ouch). Oh well. You’ve also taught me that holding favoritism against you is impossible. Scratch that. Holding anything against you is impossible. Apparently all I see is when I look at your face is instant defeat aka my big fat perfect baby. Yes, I realize I’ve become as soft as the plush pals that sit in your bed. But alas, you’re finally reciprocating my love!!!
Yesterday I was shocked to hear your teacher explain that when you don’t want to follow her instructions, you call out for “Mommy,” then bolt towards the window to check if I’m there to save you. Your teacher thinks the rebellion is really cute (thankfully), and I’m flattered/amused by your impression that mom is willing to bail you out of things that you don’t want to do. LOL. That’s not how it works. Regardless, thanks for thinking me when I’m not around. I especially love that instead of running away from me when I pick you up (like you’ve been doing for the past 12 months), you now run to me. Swoon! Victory dance! YAY!
Other recent affections have also been duly noted. Like pulling me to your room for play sessions, or jumping on my back for unexpected hugs…I see you baby! And I like it. I’ve also noticed that you’re actually REQUESTING that I pick you up and hold you. It’s like you’re a different person! Who is this child seeking his mother’s attention? I’m grateful, yes, but seriously, what happened? You haven’t given me the time of day in two years! I’ve had to grovel for kisses, master the art of graceful rejection, and I’ve had to sit on the outside of your team daddy club meetings on countless occasions. And now you love me? Why am I even questioning it instead of knocking on wood like a smart person?!
I can’t help but wonder. Maybe all my good-mom efforts are (finally) resonating with you. Maybe I’ve passed your stringent trial period. Or maybe this is a “tell Santa I was a good boy” Christmas conspiracy. Truthfully, I don’t care. Manipulate me all you want, I’m just delighted that you’re shining your light in my direction! Unprompted kisses!? YES! Your new found affections make the hair pulling, face slapping, and general brutality all the less painful. So thank you. I’m going to enjoy the next fifteen minutes of favoritism before you remember that I’m not your dad.
Lovey Dovey,
Your Mom
P.S. I didn’t give you Ducky. He’s mine. I hope this doesn’t change things.