Where’s Mommy? No, Seriously, Where Is She?

It’s no surprise that little kids (and even bigger kids) tend to prefer one parent to the other. Maybe they hang on Mom or run to Dad, but given a choice, they inevitably pick one.

Which is why, every morning when I get Sasha up from her crib, Jean hides. Not because she’s shirking her motherly responsibilities—she fulfills those with panache, of course—but because we both know that if Sasha even senses that Mom is around, I will instantly become useless. I may have just changed her diaper, gotten her dressed, given her her milk, fed her toast and crackers and cereal and fruit, read to her, danced with her, tickled her belly with my beard, played peekaboo with her, and let her bash my computer’s keyboard in a round of Alphababy, but if Sasha catches sight of Jean, it’s as if I’ve ceased to exist, or become slightly less interesting than her stuffed dog, Gou-gou.

The lengths Jean will go to to avoid detection are impressive. Maybe she watched too much MacGyver when she was young, but the way she’ll duck behind a kitchen counter or crouch behind the bed demonstrate a keen sense of sightlines and an instinct for self-preservation. If Jean were being stalked by a hungry protoplasmic hell-demon (which she kind of is), she’d surely survive into the third act of the movie, or at least long enough to get dressed and ready to go to work.

I suppose I’m sort of jealous of the situation. I mean, wouldn’t it be nice to have the baby focus all its love and attention on me for once? The thing is, I know that such allegiances are tenuous. They shift as kids age, and today’s beloved Mom is tomorrow’s pesky, needy grown-up who won’t leave me alone. Still, I’ll be waiting for that moment when Sasha pushes Jean’s arms away and cries until I, her favorite father of all time, picks her up. It’ll be nice for a while, I’m sure, but sooner or later, I know, I’ll be hiding, too.