Of course I'm grateful my son has such a close relationship with his father.
Of course I recognize that I'm lucky to have a husband who is such an active participant in his son's life.
Of course I know that I should cherish those moments, take a mental picture of my son curled on his daddy's lap.
He squirms away from me, "Daddy wead stowies."
"How about Mommy reads your stories tonight, buddy?"
Tears well in his eyes. His lip trembles. "Daddy stowies."
Because he's not feeling well, we both give in sooner rather than later. It seems silly to fight over this. He wants daddy. He's sick, so he gets daddy. If daddy had left the room, it's entirely likely that he would have tolerated mommy reading the stories.
That's not what he asks for. Given a choice, he chooses daddy every single time. Certainly there are probably reasons, but they can't explain it away.
And as much as I cherish the relationship between my husband and a son, that choice wears on me a little bit.
It would be nice to be chosen.