Parenting
By Jamie Collins
Updated: Jan. 24, 2023
Originally Published: Jan. 24, 2023
From the moment my son took his first breath, his first word was “Dada.” His early sentences were all centered around his dad: “I want Dada,” and “Where’s the Dada?” My husband is the one he relies on to build towering block structures and read stories about trucks. When it comes time for a bath or bedtime, my son insists on his father. Each morning, my husband is the first person my son calls out for, and before he drifts into the peaceful slumber known only to toddlers, he seeks out his dad.
I can’t quite figure out when this fixation on my husband began, but as my son grows, his preference for his dad seems to intensify, leaving me feeling increasingly sidelined. It’s an odd feeling, being the mother and not the one your child turns to when he scrapes his knee. Dada’s kisses seem to be imbued with magic, while mine only seem to bring more tears. It’s as if Dada has the ability to make him smile bigger and laugh louder.
On my better days, I find this dynamic endearing and take joy in the strong bond they share. They are partners in crime, always making each other laugh and inventing games that leave me puzzled about the rules. However, on my tougher days, I find myself in tears, contemplating whether I should speak to someone about the complex emotions I’m experiencing as “the rejected parent” (a label I’ve coined for myself).
When I confide in my fellow mom friends about our family dynamic, they often respond with jealousy: “I wish my kids preferred their father!” or “Count your blessings; mine clings to me 24/7.” Instead of feeling comforted, these comments amplify my feelings of isolation, making me feel like the only mother who isn’t the center of her child’s universe. I can’t shake the feeling of inadequacy.
I know my child intimately. I know that he will only eat grapes if they are cut in half. I know that the only way to get him to nap is by driving along the coast with the windows open so he can hear the waves. I’m aware he despises sleeping with socks on. While he may take time to warm up to unfamiliar children, he is observant rather than shy. Above all, I know that he loves me.
He grew inside me for nine months, fed from me for another six, and was carried with me constantly, often drawing curious glances from strangers. Our bond is unique, one that only a mother and child share. When it’s just the two of us, we create a wonderful world together, from our Sunday morning bagel rituals to laughing and singing together. Yet, whenever we share family time, it’s clear that my son always chooses his dad.
To my husband’s credit, he recognizes how deeply this situation affects me. He makes sure to encourage our son to come to me. When our son approaches him with a book, my husband often suggests, “Why don’t you ask Mommy to read that? She does the best animal voices!” Unfortunately, my son rarely takes the bait, and my husband ends up reading while I sit by with a forced smile, feeling my heart sink a little more.
Like many aspects of parenting, this phase will likely pass. Motherhood is a series of wonderful yet challenging phases, and just when you think you can’t endure a particular one, it shifts into something more uplifting. Just as the difficult phases of cluster feeding or teething eventually fade away, this, too, will pass. My husband looks forward to that day, and so do I.
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Summary
The article explores the emotional turmoil of being a parent who feels rejected by their child in favor of the other parent. The author shares personal experiences of feeling sidelined, despite knowing their connection to their child is deep and meaningful. It highlights the ups and downs of parenting dynamics and the hope that these phases will eventually change.