Daddy’s Little Girl, Mommy’s Little Angel

You know, sometimes I feel sad or guilty when Luna seems to connect more to her father or listen to him more, but then other times I’m grateful for it or encourage their interaction, such as when Luna falls asleep on the couch and her father carries her to her room cause I know that aside from her weight being more than what I technically should be lifting right now, I know that when he transfers her she tends to be more okay with just going right back to sleep whereas if I’d tried it she probably would have woken up fully and argued with me over the going down for a nap.

Run-on sentences aside, I am grateful in general that she has a daddy who loves her. My biological father raped me when I was Luna’s age. My step-dad wasn’t that horrible, but we clashed constantly because of his anal-retentive approach to housekeeping and my stubborn and defiant nature. Ironically, I can be anal-retentive about housekeeping at times as an adult. But he and I didn’t have a lot of close moments, and he died this year of cancer, so no chance of building a relationship with him now. My biological father is still alive, supposedly being a good dad to his new children. I hope, for their sake, he is a changed man, but I’m of the belief that there is absolutely no such thing as a reformed pedophile, so I will not risk the safety of my children just to build a relationship with my biological father.

My husband is a great father to Luna. He would never do the things that were done to me as a little girl. It’s sweet to watch them cuddle or play together. I know that it is all entirely innocent, that he is being a truly loving father. I love playing and spending time with Luna as well, and I really appreciate those rare occasions when we can be together as a whole family, when he’s not having to sleep for work and we can all cuddle on the couch watching “House” on DVD or when we have the occasional “extra” money and can dine out as a family.

I don’t think that she’s just Daddy’s girl or Mama’s girl; I think for different things she prefers one of us over the other. For some reason, she prefers it when her daddy is the one to help her with her hair. Apparently I do that wrong, maybe because my husband’s mother is a cosmetologist and he learned from her about hair and nail care, whereas I just never cared much about those things at all. I pull my hair up in a bun or ponytail and call it fixed. I bite my nails off much of the time, and only clean under them when it looks gross to me. I’m kind of worried about makeup. At some point, Luna’ll want to wear it and I won’t be able to give her adequate instruction on the topic, but her daddy won’t either (I joke about his feminine side, but he’s too stereotypically male to know about the appropriate applications of makeup products). I supposed I could ask my sister to do all the girly things I never knew or cared to learn how to do.

I love that Luna, while noticeably girly in many ways (count this child’s shoes, purses and hats!), still enjoys baseballs, footballs, basketballs, soccer balls, etc. I love that she likes dinosaurs and zombies and monsters. She doesn’t seem to embrace gender stereotypes, perhaps because we don’t enforce them in our household. I think it’s awesome that, while she does occasionally watch TV, it is not the focus of her life. I’m happy that she will eat her vegetables with as much enthusiasm as she’d eat a piece of cake or a donut. I smile every time I hear her utter some new word or phrase–she’s learning so quickly these days.

I know that sometimes it seems like I’m not happy being a mother, like when I rant about the day-to-day negatives or go off on a bitching tangent about something in particular she has done on a particular day, but all-in-all I truly do love being a mother, being her mother. In another month I’ll have her sibling to love and care for as well I am very happy that I have such a wonderful man to raise these babies with; I know that he loves them and me as much as I love them and him.

Gary Allan–I never cried when old yeller died (at least not in front of my friends), but when tough little boys grow up to be dads they turn into big babies again.

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