When my son uttered his first word, it was “Dada.” His first complete sentence? “I want Dada.” And soon after that, “Where’s Dada?” It seems like Dada is the one who constructs towering block structures, reads the beloved truck story, and even manages bath time. Each morning, my son springs up asking for Dada, and at night, it’s Dada he seeks before slipping into that dreamy slumber only toddlers know.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment my son’s fascination with my husband took flight, but I can say with certainty that as he grows, so does his preference for Dada over me. And with that preference comes a wave of rejection that feels increasingly real.
As a mother, it’s disheartening to be the one your child doesn’t seek out when they need comfort after a fall. Evidently, Dada’s kisses have some sort of magical healing power; mine seem to amplify the tears. Dada brings out the biggest smiles and the loudest giggles.
On good days, I find their connection heartwarming, thrilled to witness the strong bond between my son and my husband. They’re partners in crime, always sharing laughter, creating inside jokes, and engaging in whimsical games whose rules I can never quite grasp.
But on darker days, I find myself crying into my pillow, contemplating therapy to address this feeling of being the “rejected parent” (a term I coined, not my husband). When I confide in other moms about this family dynamic, I often hear jealous remarks:
- “I wish my kids preferred their dad! I never get a moment to myself.”
- “Consider yourself lucky; my toddler is glued to me all day.”
- “All I hear is ‘Mooommm.’ Just once, I’d love to hear ‘Daaaddd.’”
While intended to be comforting, these comments only deepen my sense of isolation. I feel like the only mother in existence who isn’t the sun in her child’s universe. I can’t help but feel like I’m failing.
I know my son inside and out. I know he only eats grapes if they’re cut in half. I know the only way to get him to nap is with a scenic drive along the coast, windows cracked to let in the sound of waves. I know he despises sleeping in socks and takes time to warm up to new kids—he’s observant, not shy. And above all, I know he loves me.
He was part of me for nine months and relied on me for nourishment for another six. We’ve shared an unbreakable bond, a connection that only a mother and child can understand.
When it’s just the two of us, we have a blast. We’ve established our own traditions, such as our Sunday morning trips to the local bakery for bagels, giving my husband a little break from our little shadow. We laugh, sing, and genuinely savor each other’s company.
However, family time reveals an undeniable truth: given a choice, my son picks Dada every single time. To my husband’s credit, he sees my struggle. He makes efforts to redirect my son to me, suggesting, “Why don’t you ask Mommy to read that book? She does the best animal voices!” But, inevitably, my husband ends up reading while I sit there with a forced smile, feeling my heart break a little more.
Like many aspects of parenting, this phase will likely pass. Motherhood is a series of challenging yet beautiful stages. Just when you think a phase is unbearable—like the endless cluster feeding or the teething agony—it gives way to something joyful, like a beaming first smile or the long-awaited moment of self-feeding.
This, too, shall pass. My husband is counting the days, and so am I. If you’re navigating similar feelings, you might find solace in resources like this blog post or check out this reputable retailer for at-home insemination kits. For more information on genetics and IVF, this link is an excellent resource.
In summary, being the “rejected parent” is a heart-wrenching experience, but it’s a phase that many mothers navigate. Acknowledging these feelings is the first step toward finding balance and joy in the beautiful, chaotic journey of motherhood.