I creep as quietly as I can up our old wood steps. I can hear the little giggles escaping and she tells Papa, 'Mama comin.' I then get to the top of the steps and wait a few seconds. I peek around the corner at which point Abigail squeals and giggles and half runs/half leaps into my arms.
I have no desire to do anything outside of staying home with my daughter. I get to be here for every giggle, every fit, every scraped knee, 'first,' meal, and really just seeing her life. But I have to admit my daughter is a pretty big 'Papa's girl.' Most of it melts my hardened heart when it comes to the subject of male parents. But some portion of it makes that twinge of jealousy well up in me.
When I get Abigail dressed she says things like, 'Papa yuv stwiped dwess.' When I make her food she says, 'Papa yuv noodles.' Everything we do throughout the day is referenced to Papa. We often have a conversation that goes something like, (A) 'Mamie's sad.' (Me) 'Why is Lambie sad?' (A) 'Misses Papa. (To Lambie) It's okay Mamie. Papa home soon.'
I know in reality she is acting it out because she misses her Papa. So for about two minutes every night I get to be the parent she thinks is cool, and so I bask in it.
(Abigail sleeping on Mama when she was really sick. A moment that was both sad and enjoyable at the same time.)
I really love being Abigail's Mama. And despite her constant conversation of 'Papa' I know that she really loves me too.