Tuesday, Oct. 12: Mr. No Hugs

So it's pretty much official: Gavin likes just about everybody else more than me. This is especially true when it comes to Tia Laura (not to be confused with Tila Tequila, most of the time anyway. "Tia" means "aunt" in Spanish. Since Stacy teaches Spanish she speaks to Gavin in Spanish a lot. In fact, I'm learning quite a bit as well. Not enough that I'd be able to get by in Mexico or anything. Unless I stumbled upon a town populated by babies. In that case I probably would know more Spanish than them).

In any case, yesterday after his bath Stacy sent him streaking into the living room to show off his clean nekkid self to me and Laura. He went straight to Laura who scooped him up, only to put him back down when I made a joke about him peeing on her. Even still he gave her a great big hug once they were both on the ground with Laura kneeling to be at his level. When I, also kneeling, requested a hug Gavin not only refused, but he physically recoiled, retreating to the safety of Tia Laura who gave him another hug. I tried this several times, each yielding the same result. Stacy also witnessed this. So, yeah, I've got witnesses. Although I don't really want witnesses because it's embarrassing. But I guess it is nice to know that this isn't all in my head. Yeah. It's a total relief to know that my son hating me is IRL (that's "in real life." Try to keep up).

Okay, okay, I know he doesn't hate me. Still, I'm starting to get a complex. It's hard not to take personally. I mean, it was bad enough when it was just Stacy. But Laura, too? As Lisa has assured me, it's not that Gavin likes Laura better, it's just that she's novel. After all, Gavin has never had anyone living in our basement before. He never really goes in the basement so maybe Laura seems to emerge from and retreat to a very mysterious place. Plus with Laura comes Emma, the world's most beautiful and sweet dog (sorry, Henri. I still love you the best, though). Emma is a 14-year-old greyhound and she has lived here before immediately prior to Gavin's birth. While Stacy was pregnant she would sometimes go sleep on the couch because she couldn't get comfortable in our bed and Emma would sleep on the end of the couch, keeping Stacy's feet warm. Emma's really the only reason Laura's currently living with us. Without Emma I would have given Laura a rain poncho, driven her to the nearest bus shelter and said, "Have a nice life." But I could never do such a thing to Emma.

Laura was telling my mom (her mom, too, actually) about how she's Gavin's #1 true love and Mom said, "Maybe he thinks you're D'Anne." She was, according to Laura, "Totally kidding." She came by the house today and Gavin didn't want to go to her, either. So maybe there's one person I outrank in the Gavin Love Hierarchy. In my mom's defense, she was not here for very long so Gavin didn't really get a chance to warm up to her. Plus she doesn't live in our basement, which, as we know, gives a person a real status bump with Gavin.

I mentioned that Stacy was teaching Gavin Spanish. While he doesn't say anything in Spanish, he can tell what she's saying a lot of the time. Like when she asks him if he's hungry he'll go to his high chair. I've joked that I will probably be responsible for teaching him swears since I still swear far too much. But I really have gotten much better. At the same time I think Stacy may have gotten worse. The other day Gavin was pitching a fit on the changing table, really wailing. From the other room I called to Stacy, "Why is he crying so much?" And she yelled to me, "Because I won't let him touch his shit-covered penis!" Hopefully he was screaming too loudly to hear her. Although I totally understand her frustration. Babies are completely unreasonable. As are toddlers. It's just that the more toddler they get the stronger and more wiley they get. And he's no exception, except he's not even a year and a half yet and he's already six feet tall and 275 lbs. (this may be a slight exaggeration).

I need to go make Gavin's lunch for daycare tomorrow. I am really tired and quickly losing steam. The first couple of times Stacy and I made his lunch together it was really fun and exciting. Now it's exhausting. Don't get me wrong, the reason it's exhausting is because I can't exactly just throw a pack of Little Debbie's Zebra Cakes, some Handi-Snaks and a Capri Sun in a paper bag and call it a day (I really could not possibly tell you the exact number of times that some variation of this was actually my lunch. But not until high school when I started packing it myself). We're really careful that he gets a balanced meal spread throughout three meal times during the day. It's a labor of love, really. And love is really exhausting.