Momma who?

So, I was talking to my husband on the phone today, giving him the usual “pity me” shpeel about Suttie’s incessant teething and hellacious string of poopy diapers, when he said something that made me think. I was telling him about how Suttie had been fussy all morning and refused to nap, a serious “pity me” moment, when Sutton (that’s my husband) said, “He’s sad because the one he likes the most is the one who’s gone all the time.” Now, he said this jokingly in his characteristic “it’s funny to be a jerk” way, but there was a definite amount of truth to this statement. Suttie does prefer his father. When Sutton comes home from work, Suttie is all smiles and giggles, and his eyes visibly light up. When I come home after a 4-hour absence, he acts like I just ran out to the car for a second. He turns his head to see what the dog is barking at and then quietly resumes whatever he was doing before I arrived.

I have a friend whose child is 4 months older than Suttie, and she says the same thing: Daddy is the favorite. And we both agree that this unfair favoritism hurts our feelings. How are our kids so thick when it comes to who the most important parent is? I mean, who pushed their big heads into this world? Who hooks up a medieval torture device to her boobs four times a day so that they can eat? Who washes off and pretreats their poop-stained pajamas before doing the Mount Kilimanjaro of laundry piles? I’ll give you one guess; the word starts and ends with “m” and has an “o” in the middle. And despite this multitude of self-sacrificing, Suttie’s first word will surely be “da-da,” and Sutton will probably be the recipient of our son’s first real hug. I guess it’s par for the course. I better get used to the fact that moms are often overlooked and underestimated. They’re taken for granted because they are always there, but I think that’s also what’s so great about being a mom. If you’re doing the job right, your kids aren’t going to noticed every little thing that you do for them. If they did, that would mean that you’re not really doing enough and that, when you do finally come through for them, it’s a huge deal. So, if the choice is between being the selfless constant or the acknowledged, but fair-weather mom, then I prefer the former, and I’m sure Suttie does, too.

Postscript: Thank you, Mom, for the twenty-six years and counting of pure martyrdom.