Barnabas Monkeypants

Henry is breaking my heart.

As Kristen has risen to sainthood in his 22-month-old eyes, I have become a second-class citizen. He had always asked for Kristen when he woke up, even as I was standing in front of his crib.

“Mommy?” he’ll ask.

Yes, mommy. With facial hair and a not-so-pleasant smell.

No, Henry, I’m not mommy. I’m the other one. The one who loves you just as much and is more than willing to play with trains and cars and airplanes until we’re all blue in the face.

Sure, I’m not as soft and I don’t smell as good and I was never able to breastfeed you. But I’m still your flesh and blood!

This adoration got even worse when the three of us went to Florida last week, albeit in two different locations. I headed to beautiful (horrible) and sunny (miserably hot and humid) Orlando for the American Diabetes Association’s scientific sessions (oh, the stories I could tell you about pancreatic beta-cell apoptosis) while Kristen and Henry flew to Tampa to visit her father and grandmother.

So while they as much parent-child bonding as you could ask, I was alone, eating crummy room service food, and pining for the love of my child.

And while he seemed very happy to talk to me on the phone about his airplane trip and Opa and cars and farmers, when I got home on Tuesday, Henry seemed more than content to still cling to Kristen and leave me in the dust. “Can I have a hug?” I asked, having not seen him in 6 days. “No.”

Sigh.

Yes, I know this is a phase. And, yes, I know that there will be a time in the distant future where he’ll prefer my presence to Kristen’s. But frankly, I don’t care. I want him to call out “Daddy” when he skins his knee and “Daddy” when he wakes up from a nightmare.

Is that too much to ask for?

This entry was posted on Friday, July 2nd, 2010 at 12:44 pm and is filed under Barnabas. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.