My ego is bruised. Rather than moping around and eating worms, I really should be feeling a sense of relief and freedom. After all, this recent development means there are less demands on me and me alone. It means that I don't have to panic if I work late and miss the kids' bedtimes. Best of all, it means I can pee without a shadow.
Nevertheless, I do feel bad. I feel second fiddle. I feel like screaming that I was the one who carried him in my own body for 39 LOOOOONG weeks during which I gained 50 pounds, suffered from hormonal hell, couldn't stay awake in the day and couldn't sleep through the night, and couldn't stop sweating and peeing. I was the one who suffered through a full weekend of labor pains, including 14 hours of horrendous back labor and ultimately a second round of slicing up my already scarred abdomen while I lay alert behind the sheet freaking out that I couldn't feel a thing below my neck for 40 loooooong minutes while the muscles of my belly were stretched apart and a screaming human being was dug from the depths. I was the one who woke up every couple hours to feed him around the clock immediately after the slice and dice experience while hooked up to tubes and wires with my belly stapled shut. I was the one who stuck it out through scabby nipples and clogged milk ducts while trying to nurse this child. I was the one who ended up with hypothyroidism when it was all said and done.
ME ME ME ME!!!!! IT WAS ME WHO DID THESE THINGS!
And who does the child prefer?
He wants Daddy to put him to bed. He wants Daddy to hold him. He wants Daddy to sit up with him all night when he doesn't feel well or his teeth hurt. Well, okay, that part I can totally deal with.
I really should just enjoy this. I really should. Daughter had a total Mommy preference, and I had to be the one to put her to bed every night, complete with holding her until she fell sound asleep. I was the one who had to settle her when she woke up at night. I was the one who had to be her Velcro twin for two and half loooooooooooong years. It was, if I had to choose a single word, exhausting.
But it's still painful to be chopped liver!