Tantrum-worthy

Last week as the Canuck gathered his things to go to hockey, Muffin started fuss. There’s no fooling her these days; she recognizes the signs of an imminent departure, and as the Canuck picked up his smelly hockey bag and sticks, she collapsed to the floor and gave us some serious lower lip. We both tried to tell her he would be back soon, but she could not be dissuaded to view the situation as anything less than tragic. I saw on the Canuck's face a mixture of sympathy and amusement (he's forever awarding her Best Actress for her theatrics). But there was something else: a glint of pride. Muffin has cried when left with a sitter, but never when left with a parent. Clearly parents trump caregivers, but what happens when it’s Mommy vs. Daddy? I never thought that was a cagematch I'd lose.

(For the record, as soon as he left, Muffin realized Mommy was kick-ass company and calmed down immediately.)

Oh, how the mighty fall. Earlier this week, I had to leave for work early, before Sally even arrived. As I said my goodbyes, expecting the same blown kisses and waves that I usually get, Muffin threw herself on the floor in hysterics. It's best to not draw out the goodbye, so I headed to the door. I turned around one last time, and her little mouth, blooming in agony, broke my heart. I heard her sobs all the way down the hallway.

I called the Canuck as soon as I thought he might be at work, and confirmed that it had been a protracted tantrum that could not be soothed by even the magical fuzzy pink blanket. Ultimately, she needed a few minutes on her own to calm down. By the time Sally got there, she was fine.

Now that I could stop worrying, I could start gloating. I see your minor cranky episode and raise you a full-blown meltdown. Who's your daddy now?