second-class parenthood
A couple days ago Harvey and Zion were playing a game involving pirates and prisoners and I'm not sure what else. Zion was the bad guy, so Harvey's arms were tied—pretty well, I might add, since he asked me to do it. Which was fine until he fell between the two beds in their room and, armless, couldn't find any way to get himself out. Leah and I were working in the other room so we could hear his instructions to his brother: "Zion, I'm stuck! Go ask Mama for help to get me out." Pause. "Or ask Dada, if Mama isn't available." Ah, the story of my life.
Actually, that's not quite fair. When it comes to tying up, if I'm around I tend to be the go-to parent. Also slightly more than 50% of the time when the need is fixing something made of wood that's broken. And looking at pictures of Lego creations on the computer. But in case of injury, emergency, or diaper changes, it's all about Mama. And middle of the night wake-ups? Forget it! Harvey might tolerate me, but from Zion it's nothing but "no Dada, go way!"
I'm looking forward to the arrival of another little one to change the dynamic a little bit. Finally I'll be in demand! The diaper changes will be mine! Oh wait...