Daddy's Boy

I have a Daddy's Boy and no, it isn't a phase as people have tried to convince me over the past three years. I have really never been part of that club, that one where women sit and chat over coffee, nodding knowingly at one another as one mother describes how her Jonathan "won't go, to anyone but me, it's exhausting", or another woman shares how Madison has such intense stranger anxiety that she howls in protest when even her husband enters the room. This has never been my story. From somewhere around 8 or 9 months Zack has always seemed to prefer Daddy. My mother in law has tried to console me by telling me that kids get different things from each parent. Father's provide the fun, but in the face of fear or sadness, children rush to their mother's arms for comfort. This is definitely not the case in our family, as illustrated once again by the events of last night.

Daddy tragically, and erroneously turned off the hallway light outside of Zack's bedroom, leaving Zack in utter darkness, (save the two night lights glowing in his room, but I digress.) Zack awakens in the middle of the night with shear terror. He screeches and cries, and I jump out of bed and rush to him, Daddy rolls over, adjusts his pillow. I find Zack standing sobbing in the hallway. I throw my arms around him and reassure him "Mommy is here. Everything is okay". Zachary wails "Daddy! I want Daddy!" "Hush", I tell him, hugging him harder "Everything is okay, your okay, I am here". More sobbing, "Daddy, I'm scared! Daddy!". "Mommy is here" I say again, and start to think to myself: MOMMY. Remember me?? The very mommy who underwent months of hormones and dozens of blood draws and embarrassing doctors appointments just to conceive you boys? MOMMY who's post pregnancy body has more round bits and sagging parts than I would like to admit. MOMMY who cried her eyes out when she dropped you off at daycare when you were three months old. MOMMY who took you to music class every Friday morning, since before you could even talk. MOMMY who arranges your play dates, shops for your clothing, plans your birthday parties, and has daily popsicle breaks with you. MOMMY??? The wailing grows louder. He is going to wake up his brother. So I stand up, take him by his little hand and walk him into our bedroom, where is father still lays in bed. I bring him to the side of our bed, next to his daddy, who places a hand on his son's head, and in one moment makes everything right....