Remember a while back when I complained that Viv was turning into a Daddy’s girl?
Well the shoe is on the other foot, my friends, and it turns out to be an iron boot.
Viv is going through a stage that can be best be described as “Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy.”
When she wakes up, she wants mommy.
If I try to bust a move without her, she climbs my leg like a koala bear.
Nothing comes between me and my mommy
Sometimes I feel like a celebrity being stalked by a pint sized paparazzo. “Mommy, mommy, mommy, look over here! Mommy!”
As Vince Vaughn said of Isla Fisher in Wedding Crashers, I got a stage 5 clinger.
It’s not all mommy all the time. When Viv’s in good spirits, she still wants Mr. Awesome. Daddy is her partner in comedy, the Cheech to her Chong. He’s also far more patient and focused than I am, and is rarely seen trying to return a phone call while stirring the risotto while answering the door while battling a king sized contoured sheet while reading a story.
But if Viv’s tired, scared, hungry or otherwise out of sorts, then apparently only “Mommy, mommy, mommy” will do.
While sweet and sort of flattering, this state of affairs is exhausting and inconvenient (a pretty good summary of motherhood).
For one thing, I’ve been forced to cede some hard won territory in the ongoing battle of “I need more help with the baby.” See, I had finally convinced Dave that we should alternate waking up early with Viv, and the bonus REM sleep had been making me nicer and smarter. But lately, our daughter freaks if I’m not there to greet her crib-side with her morning latte (hold the expresso). Who can sleep through “mommy, mommy, mommy?” Why did we teach this kid to talk again?
The other Saturday I ran some errands BY MYSELF (so rare, it still shocks me). I thought, wouldn’t it be fun to call home and talk to Viv on speakerphone? We call Daddy every day at work and she loves to prop the phone under her ear like a big person and say “hi Dada.” But when I called, I got silence. Later, Dave made me promise to “never do that again.” Apparently Viv was confused and upset by my call. Not only was I clearly somewhere else, but by calling, I was kind of rubbing it in her face. He had to listen to “mommy, mommy, mommy” for the next 30 minutes. That’s my name, don’t wear it out.
Look, I like that I’m a big deal around here. And as shackles go, Viv’s not too cumbersome, plus she’s damn cute.
But is it too much to ask to pee by myself?
Yeah, silly question.
By the way if you missed my guest post on How to Seduce a Mommy at Dad or Alive, go check it out. You’ll be glad you did.
Im reading this and laughed a little until I was reminded by my munchkin, as he attempted to climb up my leg onto the computer table, that I am going through the same stage. He is my shadow. No escaping him, at ever turn there he is with a big cheese grin on his face and his chubby little arms stretched up towards me. Pint-sized paparrazi indeed. Good luck!
You too Melissa!
I’ve become so accustomed to not having any privacy in the bathroom that I’ve more than once left open the stall door in the public restrooms at my office. Such a great example of how parenting colors your world view … as if everyone wants to hang out with me when I pee.
Ha! I know – I have definitely lost any pee shyness i might have had.
Okay, you seriously took a picture of yourself peeing with a stage 5 clinger — now that is some multi-tasking!
Sherie the hardest part was getting her face far enough from the camera…she likes to hold me close!
i remember my brother slipping a note under the door to my mother while she was in the bathroom many years ago. i’ll never forget her yelling “i can’t even pee in peace”! now a mom myself, i know she wasn’t even going to the bathroom, but trying to have 30 seconds of quiet… which we would not give her. very relatable post!
A note…that is classic!