Three cheers for Daddy! Addy and Peter hang out at Niagara Falls.
I'm not sure what's up with my children. It's like they've somehow conveniently forgotten that they lived inside of me for nine months apiece; that they made me gain 140 pounds over the course of each pregnancy (not letting them forget that any time soon); that I'm the one who lies awake at night listening to them breathe; that I'm the one who hurts when they cough and their little noses run; that it's me who loves them the most in the whole wide world. Lately, they've been all over Peter. Daddy this, Daddy that.
"I love you, Daddy," Peyton declared, all sweet and lovingly last night, even after Peter wouldn't give her a treat, shouted at her and made her cry.
Me: "What about Mommy? Do you love Mommy, too?"
Peyton: "I love Daddy."
Great. Awesome. Well played, Peyton.
Don't get me wrong! I'm glad they want to be with Daddy, and I'm only slightly, how do you say — well — jealous. But I'm actually more OK with it than I thought I'd be. Here's why:
Let's be honest. There will come a time — and I'm guessing it will be soon — when the girls will be back to being all about their mommy. Soon I'll go back to wiping bums and saying no to extra treats. And the cycle will continue. As long as I'm not bugged on Saturday and Sunday mornings, I'm OK with it.
Who's #1 in your house these days? Be honest: Are your kids on Team Mom? Team Dad? Team Grandma? (My kids are always on Team Bubby, but that's another story altogether.)
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