After having nine kidlets and raising them over the past 27 years, I would say that I have seen a lot. Have I seen it all? Heck no.
My wife and I are both quite competitive, although she concedes to me more often than not, especially when I am simply being an idiot… usually over board games or an air hockey table. When we are both being stupid and arguing over something that has no bearing on our lives and won’t matter 45 seconds after the fight ends, well then she like to show her competitiveness.
Then there are little things that we don’t have a ton of control over. One of those things is the love and affection of small children. If it was a 27 year long contest, I would be sucking it big time. The vast majority of our time with babies they seem to choose mom over dad. Despite all the motherly stuff, the maternal stuff, and simple genetics, there is the simple fact that she loves them more than I do (and don’t take that wrong) and spends exponentially more time with them than I do.
But then there are the moments in time, and with babies, when dad is the man. Well this week has been one of those times. Cydnee chose to cuddle me over mom three nights in a row. That is not a little deal, that is huge. That comes from a kid that might prefer to cuddle dad one night a month but then wakes up in the middle of the night to crawl over to mom.
Three nights in a row. I fell asleep with my little porkchop and three nights in a row I woke up with her.
That is like a miracle in my world. Don’t tell my mother I said that. I would get a thirty minute lecture on what a real miracle was.
I know mom… It is something that gives undeniable proof of existence of God (or extraterrestrial life). Holy crap… now I am in trouble. Oh man… now the lecture about how how there is nothing holy about shit.
What on earth were we taking about before I interrupted myself? Squirrel!