Mommy Es Diabla, Si Senor!

Nathan: "This ride is fun. Wheee!" Alec: "What you talkin' 'bout, Willis?"

Back when Nathan was a wee one, and then when Alec was a wee one (as which he hasn't actually qualified since, oh, about his third month, when he began growing to startling size), Pedro and I made up a little ditty for those times when no one but Mommy would do, not even Dada -- like changing into jimjams, and the ornery tot might shriek, "No Dada! Mommy do it!" Then we'd eye each other over the kid's flailing arms and one of us might sing, "Da-da es di-AB-lo, si si si!" to lighten the moment and remind us not to take the babe's preference personally. (Pedro speaks only Spanish with our small fry. We are a bilingual family.)

Dada always starred in the song, because whenever the little guys showed a preference, it was always for me: their primary caretaker, the original giver of milk, the cuddly queen of the household, and the one always there at bedtime and wakeys (versus globetrotting the business world as family breadwinner). Even though Dada didn't take it personally, and we both understood that the unique mommy-is-best attachment would prove fleeting, I must admit to feeling an eensy bit smug that, well, I was consistently most popular.

When Nathan discovered that Dada was also pretty cool, fun, and worthy of modeling himself after a bit, the shift was barely perceptible and wholly pleasant. Instead of choosing to grocery shop with me, Nathan might opt for running errands with Dada. He started paying rapt attention to Dada's morning toilette routine, asking why he shaves, what is deodorant, when will he start wearing boxers instead of Spiderman underpants (now if only we could find some Spiderman boxers, he'd be all set)...

But now the other shoe has dropped. Alec abruptly decided last week that Mommy es diabla, and a Mommy no le gusta por nada! We still have fun together. He still lets me tuck him in at night. But several times a day a stormy look crosses his face (see above) and he'll say something like, "I don't like you" or, "I don't like you at all, no more" and then scowl dramatically. I usually respond with something like, "Well, that's how you feel, and you can say that. And I can tell you that no matter how you feel, I always love you, honey. Even if you're not that happy with me right now. I'm always here for you." To which he'll glower, "You're not here for me! I don't like you."

Five minutes later Alec seems to have forgotten the exchange, and he's back to everyday chatter or play. I know in my head that the casual declarations of dislike are Alec's way of separating from me, that for him, for some reason, he needs to tell himself I'm yucky in order to peel back his dependence on me. But boy, is this period not fun. Having your sweet baby look you in ze eyeball ("Hi, I'm Claude, you are for scuba?" -- "Along Came Polly") and tell you he doesn't like you, hurts a lot. I won't even bother trying to dream up a clever analogy for the pain because no matter what, the result would sound trite or precious or both.

The good news related to this healthy-but-challenging developmental phase is twofold. First, Pedro is proving himself worthy of the sudden increase in demanded Dada attention. He is sensitive to our younger son's new infatuation and is taking the increased responsibility in stride. Second, a glimpse of resurfaced acceptance toward Mommy seemed to happen tonight: While the whole family were reading bedtime stories together, Alec patted my knee and smiled at me. Then, when I tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, Alec let loose another beatific smile. That's more like it, little dude. I'm sure it'll be one step forward, three steps back, so who knows what might happen tomorrow? But eventually I hope Alec will realize that he can love both his parents; it's not an all or nothing proposition; and it's OK to prefer one or the other parent for certain circumstances.

While we wait for him to sort himself out, I will cherish even more the grins he bestows upon me and the smooches he doesn't wipe away. Growing up is a sucky process, but it's all part of this thing we (and Prince) call "life".

Comments

[Elemmaciltur]

I have to admit that I haven't read your post yet, but will do that later. ;) Thanks for the comment on my blog! No, the name of my blog's not German, if you want an explanation, just follow the following two links:

http://numenna.blogspot.com/2005/08/thing-about-my-screen-names.html

http://numenna.blogspot.com/2005/08/and-now-my-blog-name.html

[Stephanie]

My son goes back and forth between who his "favorite" is. I usually like being the favorite, except when it's four a.m.

[Lyle]

elemmaciltur, i will check out those links later today. i am very curious about the names' origins!

stephanie, you are sooo right about the 4am thing. no one wants to be popular then!