Electra

Everyone goes through phases, I guess. Picasso had his blue phase. In college, I had a very unfortunate overalls phase.

Muffin is in her Daddy phase.

When I get home from work each night, I can hear Muffin asking, “Mama?” as I walk in the door. I am greeted with a big smile, but then the inquisition begins.

“Daddy?”

“He’ll be home later, sweetie.”

(5 minutes later)

“Daddy?”

“No, it’s just Mommy right now. Daddy’s still at work, but he’ll be home soon.”

(2 minutes later)

“Daddy?”

And so on. When she’s not trying to gauge an ETA for Daddy, she’s pointing out his shoes, his coat, and his backpack like a lovesick schoolgirl. She even reverently points to the nasty Lee Iacocca olive oil spread he smears on his toast. When finally she hears his keys in the lock, she drops whatever she is doing to jet to the door and greet him with not just a smile but a big swoony hug.

That I could handle. But it gets worse. Sometimes when we’re pushing her in the stroller, she wants Daddy to walk beside her and hold her hand, reducing me to the role of unwanted chaperone on their romantic date. When she’s had too much walking and needs to be carried, she squeezes the Canuck with hugs that last for blocks, purring happily all the way. “Do you want to hug your mom?” he asks, charitably. She shakes her head no. I pull the daggers out of my heart all the way home.

I’m starting to feel like she’s just not that into me.

Now clearly, the Canuck is a dreamboat. I mean, I married him, didn’t I? I get the allure. But what does he have that I don’t? I’m not stricter. I don’t say no more than he does, in fact I think I say it less. I totally know more verses to “Wheels on the Bus” and put together much cuter outfits. Perhaps the fact that I generally spend more time with Muffin – and am more often the one cajoling her into eating vegetables, getting her into the bath and enforcing bedtime -- makes Daddy more of an exotic treat.

I am glad to see the Canuck get the enthusiastic reception he deserves; I’m afraid I’m sometimes too busy with my to-do list to tell him how wonderful I think he is, so I’m glad someone’s doing it. I’m happy for him, I am; and I know that she's just a fickle (and brutally honest) toddler, and maybe she’ll come down with a case of Mommyitis next week. But for now, it really smarts.

On Saturday, we took advantage of the gorgeous weather and headed to the zoo. We got there just as they were feeding the sea lions. Muffin was entranced – and a little bit afraid. As the sea lions’ barks cut through the air, Muffin rushed into my arms and stayed there for the whole show, leaning her head on my shoulder. I was squatting, and my knees were begging for mercy, but I stayed right where I was.