Back When P.J. Was The Favorite. Again. (And Still.)

Oh, she’s a cool one.

Two nights ago, something momentous happened:

Nora asked me to tuck her into bed.

Me. Her mother. Even though her father was totally in the room and available and hadn’t lost an iota of his Favorite Person In The Land status. Well, maybe just a little.

Because she asked me to tuck her into bed.

Back in the day, I tucked her into her crib every single night. Oh, sure, P.J. used to try. And I’d elbow him [nicely] in the face as I squoze my daughter between my chin and chest until she was lulled/short of breath. I couldn’t get enough of her- this newborn who was better than any doll…and then this smiley baby who’d hum as she drifted off to sleep…and then this newly toddling toddler who would request songs by singing the first three notes. I loved rocking her, pacing with her, smelling her [mostly clean] sweet baby skin, and feeling her hair wisp against my face in the breeze of the fan. I adored watching her blink tiredly up at me from her crib, her eyes carefully watching to see if I left her room the same way as I had the previous night (through the door), and then I’d listen as she babbled to Doc Bullfrog about the exhilarating things she’d done that day.

The nighttime routine was our thing, and my chance to quietly snuggle this rapidly growing wiggle of a worm. And even though Dad’s comings and goings were the highlight of the day (and week…and year…), she respected that bedtime was a Mom thing.

Until it wasn’t.

Because the older she got, the more she realized how much she had missed her Dad that day. And couldn’t he just be the one to help brush her teeth? And pick out jammies? And read one book (two, three, four- HEY, DAD LETS ME READ AS MANY BOOKS AS I WANT).

I tried not to let it bother me because, really- all kids should be so lucky to have such one-on-one time with their fathers. And kid affection changes like the breeze. These are all things I know. I know these things. I do.

But I still missed her.

Because now, the only snuggle time we had was if I belly-flopped with her while building blanket tents. Or if I snuck in to wipe her hands and face and surreptitiously grabbed her for a cuddle. And I’d get the impatient wriggle, and the rote “Iloveyou,too.”

So when she made her proclamation the other night, I played it cool. Even though it felt like that time during freshman year Spanish class when the kid I thought was so great asked to borrow a pen even though he totally had one in his backpack- I saw it… I played it cool.

And it was awesome. I picked her up for a big snuggle hug, her legs dangling way lower than I remembered them being just a few months prior- and then she asked me to just kinda put her into bed. (Please.) We chatted. Mentioned some people in prayers. Sang a song or two. (Little did she know that I would’ve sung an entire canon if she had just said the word.)

And then her eyes watched me as I walked out the door (per usual). She talked with Doc for a little, while I went downstairs and tried not to gloat to P.J. about how I was probably her favorite person in the land. Most likely.

Last night, she asked P.J. to tuck her in.

So the only snuggle for me came when I tiptoed back into her room (when she was fully and truly asleep) to smooth her hair and kiss her forehead like I’ve done every single night since the night we met. But it’s okay. Because it’s clear that she has a favorite (and we all know who that is).

She’s just playing it cool. Way cool.

I know the signs.