Moms are superheroes. Once you’ve witnessed someone endure a 40-week pregnancy, the stress of labor and delivery, unpredictable postpartum changes, and the responsibility of sustaining a newborn with their body, it’s hard to have a different opinion.
I’ve mentioned before that we intended to shoot for a 50/50 split of responsibilities when our older daughter was born. This was mostly because I wanted to be a good dad and involved in the life of my child, but I also felt it was only fair given my lack of relative sacrifice in the preceding nine months. Still, no matter how many grocery store trips or night time feeds or loads of laundry or cooked dinners I tallied, the distribution rarely felt fair. Early on, I was basically a pro bono DoorDash driver while mom was tasked with survival.
For her troubles, mom almost always takes the gold medal during the infant and early toddler years. Nature rewards her efforts with the first smiles and deepest bonds, the cooing and the connection. And as a dad, you can often feel like you’re competing for second place.
I’ve always understood it. I know enough about attachment theory to recognize why I’m often treated like the bum roommate of my kids. I wholeheartedly believe that mom deserves to be treated like royalty. And still, when you’re just trying to make pretend pancakes in the pretend kitchen and the mood flips from laughter to screaming “I WANT MAMA!” for no reason other than you didn’t correctly eat the pretend pancakes off the pretend plate with the correct pretend fork, it feels pretty shitty. Hypothetically speaking.
If you’re easily offended by the actions of young kids, parenting is going to be tough. It’s not their fault - they just don’t have the brain development required to care even a little bit about your feelings. They are tiny narcissists who are wholly dependent on you to keep them alive, rarely thank you for your efforts, and think you’re the devil when you aren’t playing by their toy kitchen rules. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to feel a little sad when they’re shrieking for the other parent.
Feed for the love you need
When you’re not the primary food source, you’re probably not going to be the primary receiver of affection. I know this because I’ve now gone through it three times.
The first was with our dog when we adopted her. At the time, my wife was at home more often than me and, through heavy treating and training, developed a stronger bond with Zoe than I did. Initially, this manifested in Zoe following my wife around our apartment like she was a canine cult leader. It also led to several episodes of her growling at me when my wife and I would hug.
I was the one who pushed for a dog in the first place, so it felt like a pretty big F you that this animal, who was found wandering the streets of the Central Valley in California and was now getting pawdicures and eating salmon nightly, had the audacity to try to big-time me in my own house. Eight and a half years later, things have gotten better, but I’m still unequivocally second place.
Then the toddler came along. Things were going well until she began refusing the bottle at three months old. That put a quick end to my nighttime feeds (and was a big reason we hit sleep training early) and also removed my association as a food source. Not too long after that, she also went through a classic baby stranger danger phase. You can see where this is going.
Despite changing, holding, loving, and worrying about her every single day of her life, I became the victim of a few stranger danger-style episodes where she would spontaneously combust into tears when I picked her up. That phase mercifully ended as quickly as it started, but I was definitely in my sunken place while it lasted.
The baby has been kindest to me of the three dependents. But as one of my friends put it, when you go from one to two, you switch from a double team to man-to-man defense (he’s expecting his third and is working on a Syracuse 2-3 zone with his wife). My defensive assignment has primarily been the toddler, and the baby has had the pleasure of spending more time with mom in addition to being on the boob for what feels like 50% of her lifetime waking hours.
The common denominator here, from dogs to kids, is food. Until you’re able to reliably provide it, you’re kind of stuck in the “tolerable” tier of the parental power rankings.
Time heals all. So does 1:1 time. And bribery.
Luckily for me and all runner-up dads, the gap closes over time. Your kids grow up, they come to appreciate your quirks, and, assuming you’re in the mix, they love you like you hope your kids will.
I’ve had success carving out special activities that are normally just for the toddler and dada. We’ve visited the local bagel store 50+ times in her life, so at least ⅓ of the weeks she’s been alive. We typically go on weekends, but since she has no concept of days of the week beyond the lyrics of a Ms. Rachel song, she is genuinely surprised every time I tell her we’re going to get bagels. I’ve spent an ungodly amount of money at that bagel store. I’d do it a million times over because the ROI on toddler excitement is immeasurable.
Is this a commitment to routine 1:1 time with my child? Yes. Is it bribery? Yes. Still, things as small as having special books or special songs or special hiking trails or special expensive blueberry bagels that they eat 22% of but refuse to share are important associations that occupy a special place in their tiny hearts.
Yesterday, I put all 35 pounds of her in the hiking backpack and trekked up a steep trail to look at her favorite sculpture on a nearby college campus. Along the way, when I had the breath, we talked about things like trees, firefighters, neighbors, and college students. In those moments, I forget all about when she used to scream cry when I picked her up. She now feels safe with me, to the point where she trusts me not to slip on a muddy slope or to laugh at her for suggesting that trees had fallen in the forest because the firefighters made a mistake and accidentally lit them on fire.
It’s not a competition (but I like winning)
It’s important that I never give off the impression that mom’s traditions are less cool than mine or, more importantly, that I’m ever publicly declaring our places in the toddler’s mental rankings. It’s not a competition!
*A giant BUT emerges from the eighth layer of hell* BUT, I’m not gonna lie and say that, sometimes, I don’t feel a little good when my wife draws the short end of the stick and the toddler is hollering for dada. I am fully aware that she’s just doing this as a stalling tactic and that I am a temporary beneficiary of circumstance, but I’ll take the short-lived W.
At the end of the day, I know where I stand yet I’m proud of the progress we’ve made. When I pick her up at daycare or wake her up for bagels in the morning, her face lets me know that she loves me as her dad.
Over the weekend, I walked into the kitchen and she was standing on her breakfast stool. She put her arm around me and said “I want to hang out with you.” If that’s what a silver medal looks like, I’ll happily take second place.
Kid highlight of the week
I recognize that the baby rarely gets any shine in this section. That is because she is eight months old and is incapable of saying or doing 99.9% of the hilarious stuff that her sister does on a regular basis.
In my resolutions post, I talked about getting out more with my kids, even if it means some temporary suffering. On Sunday, we went to a local burger restaurant for lunch. Nobody had a meltdown. Nobody screamed in the car. Nobody had a car seat blowout. The baby sucked on a piece of a hamburger bun while we ate our burgers. It was delightful.
Over the past two weeks, she’s started clapping and waving and routinely making consonant sounds. Best of all, she’s interesting enough for her sister to now “play” with her. There is nothing more adorable to watch them interact with each other, even if they’re cognitively on different planets.
Once the baby stops projectile vomiting on the toddler’s toys, we’ll really be cooking with gas. I can’t wait to watch them grow up together.
Clearly you haven’t found the secret that most American dads use to compete with mom for the #1 spot. When mom says “no” to a toddler request, you take the child to a private spot and say, “I am going to allow you to do that, but you can’t tell your mom.” This cements a bond with the child of secrecy, intrigue, and subterfuge that can last a lifetime. The marriage generally falls apart and the child will need years of therapy, but hey...you will have been #1 for a while.
I thought of you when I read these hilarious new year's resolutions from the brew review, a weekday news update published by morning brew. You could definitely relate to the first one:
Two weeks ago, we asked you to set a New Year’s resolution for someone who isn’t yourself. Here are our favorite responses:
“For my toddler: Let’s commit to stop yelling ‘you’re not my mom!’ in public unannounced. I am, indeed, your mother.”—Abby from Minnesota
“My dog’s resolution is to not stink. I’ve tried everything to improve his smell and I’m giving up. This is his battle now.”—Rudy from Pennsylvania
“My cat’s resolution should be to drink the water we have in one of the four water bowls instead of drinking the water in the dirty dishes in the sink like a gremlin.”—Emily from Illinois
“My brother needs to cap his daily Instagram sharing to five posts a day. These bathroom breaks are getting too long.”—Brennan from NYC
“My husband’s New Year’s resolution is to get my car detailed. He took it off-roading a year ago and promised to clean it, and yet here we are. I’m holding my ground.”—Nicole from California