My son’s first word was “Daddy.” His first complete sentence? “I want Daddy.” And his second? “Where’s Daddy?” He believes that only Daddy can stack his block towers and read his go-to book about trucks. He insists that only Daddy can give him a bath or tuck him in at night. Daddy is the first person he calls for when he wakes up and the last person he wants to see before he drifts off into that magical sleep that only toddlers seem to master.
I can’t quite figure out when my son developed this obsession with my partner. What I do know is that as he grows, his preference for Dad over me seems to intensify—and so does my sense of rejection.
It feels so unnatural to be the mother yet not be the one he seeks out when he tumbles and scrapes his knee. Apparently, Daddy’s kisses have some kind of healing powers; mine just seem to trigger more tears. Daddy brings out the biggest smiles and the loudest giggles.
On my good days, I find this dynamic heartwarming. I cherish the strong bond my son shares with his father. They are best friends, partners in mischief, always making each other laugh, and engaging in silly games that I can’t even begin to understand.
But on my bad days, I cry myself to sleep and contemplate reaching out to a therapist about the complex I’ve developed from feeling like a second-class citizen in my own family.
When I share my experience with fellow moms, they often respond with envy:
- “I would love it if my kids preferred their dad! I never get a break.”
- “Count your blessings! My 18-month-old clings to me non-stop.”
- “Ugh. All I hear is ‘Mooommm.’ For once, I’d like to hear ‘Daaadddd.’”
These comments don’t help. Instead, they amplify my feelings of inadequacy. I feel like the only mom in history who doesn’t hold the center of her child’s universe. It’s a hard pill to swallow.
I know my child inside and out. I know he’ll only eat grapes if I slice them in half. I know the best way to get him to nap is a car ride along the coast with the windows cracked so he can listen to the waves. I know he despises sleeping with socks on. And I know he takes time to warm up to new kids—not because he’s shy, but because he’s observant.
And yes, I know deep down that he loves me. After all, he grew inside me for nine months, and for six months, he was nourished by my body. He was attached to me until I began to get those judgmental looks from strangers who thought I was carrying a toddler for my own benefit rather than his. Our connection is one that only a mother and her child can truly share.
When it’s just the two of us, we have a blast. We have our own little traditions, like visiting the local bakery for bagels every Sunday morning to give my partner a breather from our little shadow. We laugh, sing, and genuinely enjoy our time together.
However, during our family time, it’s painfully obvious that when given a choice, my son always gravitates towards his father. Every. Single. Time.
To my partner’s credit, he’s aware of how much this affects me. He encourages our son to come to me instead. When our little one approaches him with a book, my partner will say, “Why don’t you ask Mommy to read that? She does the best animal voices.” But it rarely works; my partner ends up reading while I sit there with a forced smile, my heart aching just a little more.
Like most things in parenting, I know this is likely just a phase. Motherhood is a series of wonderful yet challenging stages. Just when you think a particular phase is pushing you to your limits (like the sleepless nights or teething troubles), it transitions into something beautiful (like those first gummy smiles or the joy of self-feeding).
This too shall pass. My partner can’t wait for that day, and neither can I.
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Summary:
Navigating the emotional landscape of being a “rejected” parent can be challenging, especially when a child seems to favor one parent over the other. This piece reflects on the complexities of motherhood, the bond between a child and their parents, and the inevitable phases that come with parenting. Ultimately, understanding that these dynamics can shift over time offers some hope and reassurance.