“I missed you while I was sleeping!” My daughter exclaimed brightly as I opened her bedroom door one recent morning, her early-rising baby brother already on my hip. “I need a hug.” As I leaned in to receive her embrace, a gratified grin of maternal satisfaction across my face, my precious daughter Heisman’ed me and reached for her brother.
She had been talking TO THE BABY.
Well, damn. And adorable. The chubby little attention thief my daughter was supposed to resent has somehow managed to become the apple of her eye. She delights in helping to care for him (guess who I yell “Burp cloth!” to now?), involving him in her favorite games (which explains why he occasionally wears a tutu), and showering him with her signature brand of aggressive affection. She has already stated her intention to marry him, which we’ve decided is too precious to ruin with explanations of why their marriage would be illegal and super gross.
And wouldn’t you know it, hers isn’t the only heart in our house that’s been set aflutter by this little chunk of love. This baby boy OWNS me in a way I can’t fully explain, except to say that I now understand the mother of every boy I ever dated (and my mother-in-law) just a teeny bit better. My son looks at me like I am the most magnificent being on the planet; if he ever looks at another woman that way, I will have no choice but to end her.
So, to my husband on this Valentine’s Day: sorry, dear, but there’s a new big man on campus and your girls have fallen for him hard. The good news is that he’s basically a baby version of you, so really, this should all be immensely flattering. And don’t worry: eventually he’ll be awkward and smelly and refuse our kisses. Your time will come again.