Now I feel I should point out before I begin that I don’t really think the baby hates me, he just acts like it. After a year of wanting only mummy (or most likely my boobs), the tables have officially turned and now only daddy will do. Every. Damn. Day.
Each morning starts off roughly the same. He wakes up and immediately searches for daddy. To the point that if I collect him from his cot at stupid o’clock, he grunts at me disapprovingly and flails around in my arms searching for said daddy until he spots him. He then throws himself at him in a manner that suggests, “thank god you’re here to rescue me from this dreadful woman” whilst shouting, “daaadddeeee” in pure delight. This metaphorical two fingers to his mother then continues in one form or another for the rest of the day. Whether it be via emotional warfare i.e. breaking down into a fit of despair as daddy walks out the room leaving me and him in it, or by a plain old physical violence usually resulting in a excellently executed pinch to the face, at 14 months the baby has somehow become a master in digging the knife in.
For 65 per cent of my day, I am usually able rationalise this behaviour by reminding myself that it’s just a phase, and funnily enough Coco also went through the same thing at the same age (for those who have read my previous posts, you should be familiar with Coco’s “special mummy” aka daddy. Bastard). But for that other 35 per cent, every birdie the baby flicks me is like a bullet to the heart and it’s a funny feeling to manage. Ordinarily if someone upsets me I just ignore them for a bit, and if it’s really bad I do my own fair share of birdie flicking, but it’s a bit difficult to hold a grudge with a one year old. That’s the annoying thing about kids, they always want to be feed, or changing, or played with. So I do what all us mums and dads do… plaster on a smile, soldier on in a sing song style fashion and bust open the wine at the earliest opportunity then sob.
The husband and I do love a theory, and we think our particularly unusual circumstances could be to blame. Just as I prize the babies off the boob, super daddy is ready to sweep in after a summer spent in an ice cream factory and take over on the sleep front, meaning one comfort is readily replaced by another. Of course owning an ice cream factory with a never ending supply of Nobbly Bobblys can’t hurt.
But as the winter rolls round and a new season beckons, it won’t be long before daddy will be back at the factory full time and mummy will be the only parent on offer. So for now I just have to keep fingers crossed this phase passes quickly, my fridge stocked with wine, and my freezer with filled with a stash of Nobbly Bobblys – just in case.