I’m not the favourite

Louise McLaren - 13 May 15

It crept up on me, potent and malevolent. I’m not the favourite. I’m not the joint winner in my son’s affections. I’m the laggard, panting to keep up.

I just didn’t expect it, you see. Here was me, smugly comfortable in my self-assurances that the blood, sweat and tears (all of them, literally, in copious amounts) that I had given over in the early months – my sacrificial gifts at the altar of babyhood – had forged an enduring bond. Certain that just being the mum counted for something significant and primordial. Satisfied with the evidence we were equal parents, each bringing our own benefits and party tricks.

And then the balance tipped. While I wasn’t looking. While I was out of the country, squinting at the home front on FaceTime.

Back when I was planning my maternity leave I was sure we’d split it equally as parents. That didn’t fully happen, but for various logical reasons my husband is now the lead carer. He still works nearly full-time but juggles things so our son goes to nursery 3 days a week, the remaining 2 of which are covered mostly by my husband, who also does most nursery pick-ups and drop-offs. And he’s completely bloody brilliant at it all. He was made to be a dad, and he has expanded the definition of father way beyond its useful confines.

Meanwhile I get more freedom than I expected to work as I need in my role, while being strict about my office hours so I get as much time at home as possible. To my surprise, I’ve managed to achieve this. And now it doesn’t feel enough.

It all made sense. It all makes sense. But I hadn’t counted on a crazy period of work travel. And the natural outcome – the deepening of the daddy-son bond that now has me walking into his bedroom in the morning to the excited shrieks of ‘daddy!’, dealing with upsets that call for daddy, having to reassure that daddy will be back soon, but he is just running/working/making dinner.

Rationally, I understand it’s exactly what you’d expect. I understand it’s what many dads in more traditional set-ups have to deal with. I appreciate it may just be temporary, and is something I can try to address. And that it’s not a problem, because my son is still happy with me and the main thing is that he has two parents who love him and who are there for him.

But it still hurts. It’s a boring, boring truism that you can’t have it all. It still challenges my feminist ideologies, because frankly I want to have my cake and eat it. I want to avoid the hassle and time-sink of getting my son out the door in the morning but still stand on a pedestal alongside my husband. I want to believe that just giving birth, breastfeeding, being constantly there for 8 months just meant something unshakeable. I wish he saw the things I do for him that are never visible, and of course this hidden, thankless effort is part-and-parcel of being a mother. It’s just that I’m a selfish mother.

Louise McLaren

Louise is a marketing consultant and mother to toddler Rory. She constantly finds herself thinking that her son is the most amazing thing in the world and she can't believe he exists, but a few seconds later that she must get away from the tantrums right this second and have a holiday... Where is her husband when she needs him?!

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