Separation Anxiety

Our sweet little Peanut has turned one year old.  The Four Walls household is now officially leaving the snugly newborn-baby years behind with this momentous mark for our last child, and forging full-speed ahead into toddler-dom one last time.  First steps, imitation, and temper tantrums are the on the daily menu at Chez Four Walls, and we love every minute of it.  Separation anxiety, on the other hand, not so much.  I don't mean it hasn't taken up residence, because believe me, it has.  What I mean is that we're not loving this stage.  And by we, I mean me.

Peanut is a Daddy's Girl. Mr. Four Walls is her world, and has been pretty much since birth.  Even when I was her sole source of sustenance in those first few milky-months, she tolerated me to attend to the task of nourishing herself, and then wanted....Daddy.  This is such a turnabout from the older girls who, while they certainly loved and bonded with their Dad, searched me out for all of their needs.  It was me they wanted in the middle of the night, and when they were in an unfamiliar place they scanned for me.  Neither of them went through a particularly painful phase of getting anxious at my leaving or being out of sight, but they were definitely happier to have me close.  Peanut?  Not so much. 

Don't get me wrong.  Her eyes do light up when I come home, and she does seem to enjoy when I swoop her up and breathe her in after a long day apart. That is, unless she knows Mr. Four Walls is home.  The child seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when he is present before she can see or hear him, and know matter who or what she was engaged with, when she senses him, she has to have him.  Right. Now.  God forbid he come into the house and need to use the restroom or wash his hands before he gets to her.  Lord help us all if, after greeting her and the rest of the family, he retreats to the shower to clean away the days worth of dirt and grime he usually wears home.  After over eight years of fatherhood, he is finally perfecting the art of the ultra-fast shower.  Even from the other end of the house, even over the sound of the shower, he can hear her mournful cries of "Da-daaaaa.  Da-daaaaa." 

She'll settle down a bit for me or whomever is holding her, but unless she's sure he has left for good (and sometimes it'll continue even then) she struggles to hold back the crocodile tears.  Periodic, questioning "Da-da"s pass through her sweet, quivering, pouting lips.  And I'm jealous. 

I'm away from her so much.  On a good day I spend 120 waking minutes with her, and many days it's less.  Yes, it is wonderful that she has such a strong bond with her Dad, and I would never want anything less for them.  And, yes, I know that she and I have just as strong of a bond, even if it's not as visible at this stage of the game.  And yes, I know that they go through phases, this too shall pass, and yada, yada, yada.  The mature, rational, experienced mother in me gets it and is grateful.  However, the slightly selfish, overworked, exhausted, tired-of-being-a-working mother wants her baby to want me as much as she wants her "Da-daaaaa."  It hurts when I get home and try to give her a kiss only to have her push me away as she snuggles into Daddy.  It hurts when she screams and claws back to him when I try to embrace her.  It hurts that my presence and embrace has only 1/16th of the calming effect of simply having her father sitting next to her.

So, I think we're both experiencing a bit of separation anxiety:  her from her father, and I from her.  I look back at how insanely fast this past year has evaporated, and I'm sad.  While working and commuting, I've missed so many precious giggles and smiles, tears and tunny-aches.  Yes, it was for a good reason - food and shelter are good reasons, I suppose. 

In this period of transition, as we separate ourselves from our once believed-to-be-forever-home, I'm anxious to move forward.  Forward toward the day when I get to spend more than 120 rushed minutes with my kids.  Forward toward the day when I will be able to answer the always asked question of "So, do you know where you're moving?"  Forward toward the day of her maturing enough to recognize that even we she can't see him, her Daddy is there, loving her and protecting her.  That's a reminder that I need sometimes, too.  Silly Separation Anxiety.

The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.

-Philippians 4:6 (NIV)