My son (Smiley) is so much fun. He’s 16 months old and is constantly on the go. He definitely has preferences: green beans, cheese, cars and trucks, books, and, well, my boyfriend, the Writer.
I know he doesn’t really prefer my boyfriend over me, he just doesn’t see him as often as we’d both like, but yesterday I had to keep reminding myself.
When I picked Smiley up at daycare, he was outside playing. He kept showing me the toy lawn mower and kept going down the slide. I asked, “Are you ready to go?” and he ran into a little toy house and started playing hide-and-seek with me. Very cute, but, dude, we gotta go!
Finally, I asked, “Do you want to see the Writer?” and what a change: his eyes lit up, he got a great big smile on his face, and he came right out of the toy house with his arms held up to me. “W! W! W!” he said.
I am so very happy that he loves the Writer as much as he does. (I love the Writer very much, too.) And I am thrilled at how well they get along, but I couldn’t help but feel a bit snubbed in that moment. He didn’t want to leave with me, but as soon as the prospect of seeing the Writer came around, he was raring to go. I know it was just that he doesn’t see the Writer very often, and the Writer and Smiley are great buddies and have a great time together.
But later on, when the Writerand I were lying on the floor and Smiley kept coming up and “getting us” (giving us raspberries on our tummies), I forgot all of that and reveled in how much I love my family, as nontraditional as it is.