For the past six months or so, I have really struggled with parental jealousy: Jack preferring Eric over me. I realize that this is an official phase of toddlerhood that is promised to pass, and I’m told that someday soon I’m going to miss this stage, when it becomes “Mommy! Mommy!
Mom-my!” Nonetheless, Jack has been nothing but a Daddy’s boy for so long now, and some days it’s really hard for me to handle. I’m not even sure the word “jealousy” is appropriate here; I am so thrilled that Jack loves his Daddy and I love watching them together and seeing what a wonderful father Eric is to Jack. But in all honesty, it hurts to not be wanted.
Now, I’ve heard all the horror stories about mothers who need to be needed, or who seek validation by their children in some way. I don’t ever want to become one of those, and I don’t believe I am one. I would just like to be loved by my own son. After all, I work hard all day out of
my love for him—getting up early, playing with him, making him food, cleaning up the myriad messes that each mealtime brings, changing his diapers (definitely an act of selfless love!), comforting him when he is hurt, protecting him from danger whenever I can, making sure he gets enough sleep and not too much TV time, no matter how much he protests—because I know better than he does at his immature age what is best for him. All these things I do to show and prove my love for him—is it too much to ask to be loved in return?
You may be shaking your head thinking, “Surely she’s overreacting.” But Eric will testify to Jack’s clinginess; he is also surprised and perplexed by it. On Sundays when I pick Jack up at the church nursery, he drops his toys and runs to me, arms open wide. But that’s only because I’m a means to an end. What does he do as soon as we’re out the door? Start looking for Daddy. And as soon as he sees Eric, he is flailing to get out of my arms and go tearing through the crowds of people toward his beloved father. I’m left standing there with diaper bag, blankie, and usually an assortment of crumbs and sippy cups, which are not fulfilling company on any given day. Sometimes I’m embarrassed by this, and I battle thoughts that seek to convince me that other people will notice Jack’s obvious preference and conclude that I must be doing a terrible job as a mother to deserve such rejection.
But that’s just it—I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong! What is it about Eric that Jack so prefers? What does he have to offer that I don’t? And don’t I have any special qualities to offer that Eric can’t? Will I ever be recognized as the other
half of this parenthood?
One of the reasons this Daddy-obsession bothers me so much is that it makes me feel like Jack’s nanny. I have done so much babysitting in my life, and every now and then you get the child that cries and cries when their mommy leaves, and you know they just
hate that you are there instead…and then there is the joyous reunion of mother and child, the running for mommy and clinging to her neck as if to say, “Please don’t ever let go of me again!” And it’s okay with me. Because I’m just the babysitter. No hard feelings. Someday I’ll be on the other side of this picture!
So now
I’m the mommy.
I’m the one who is supposed to be cherished and missed, and snuggled and clung to. I thought my day had finally come! Instead, I end up feeling like the babysitter once again, as Jack has one joyous reunion with Daddy after another, even if it’s only been the ten minutes it takes Eric to shower.
Recently, Eric was gone during the day and it was just Jack and me at home. We played, ate lunch, played a little more, and then I put him down for a nap. So far, so good. But when he woke up from his nap, I was crushed to discover that he did not even want me to get him from his crib! He saw me come in the door, started crying, and backed into the corner of his crib, shaking his head! As I reached out to him (which is hard with my 30-weeks pregnant belly in the way) he jerked away from my touch and flung himself down, kicking his little legs and working up quite a scream.
When I was finally able to get him and drag him out of his crib and into my arms, he threw one of the most unbelievable tantrums ever. Kicking, kicking, kicking, arching his whole back and pushing away from me, desperately trying to get out of my arms. He kicked so much that it started to hurt my belly and I finally put him down in my bed. He proceeded to kick the bed and scream for another fifteen minutes, with his scratchy little sore-throat cry that’s heart-wrenching to listen to.
Later that day, after Eric had come home, Jack dished out the final blow. He began crying intensely about an hour after we had put him down for bed. I let him go a few minutes, but it was that kind of cry that makes you a little more alarmed than just the cranky, “I’ll-work-through-it-on-my-own” cry that sometimes comes during sleep. So after a little while I went in to check on him.
And he cried even harder when I went in. I picked him up and tried once again to rock him and soothe him as any good mother would. But what did he want? He kept leaning towards the door of his room. As soon as Eric came into view I almost dropped Jack as he desperately tried to get to Eric. As I watched with a sinking heart, he wrapped his chubby hands around Daddy’s neck, clinging to him, and then laid his head on Eric’s shoulder, sucking his thumb contentedly. It was just too much for me. I left and headed for my own room in tears.
I sat down on the side of my bed, seriously hurting and feeling like there must really be something wrong with me. I fought back self-pity and thought things like, “Why doesn’t he want me? Why does it not soothe him when I stroke his head and hold him tight and tell him that everything will be okay, because I’m there? If only he could see the love I have for him in my heart! If only he knew how much it would make my heart swell just to have him show me that he loves me in return! Then would I be his comfort? Then would he desire to sit with me, to rest his head on my shoulder, to run to me with arms wide open just because he wants
me? What more can I do to prove this to him?” As much as it hurt, I also knew in my heart that I would never give up trying to prove my love to him, because he was my precious son.
And then suddenly, as if a light had been lit in my heart, my tears began to flow speedily as I was hit with a fundamental realization: all of these questions, all of these feelings of rejection, all of my desires for returned love—these were exactly the words that God was trying to say to me. This was the lesson I had not learned yet, had not listened to enough, had not trusted fully.
God, my wonderful Father, has watched me throw tantrums for years, kicking and screaming away. He has watched me make decisions for myself, neglecting His wisdom even though He was right there to offer it. This Father who created me and loves me dearly—His own child—has tried time and again to show me His love. And I have rejected Him. I have chosen other comforts over Him. I have chosen other people, other things, other places to go to for rest, for fulfillment, for love.
Sitting there, my big belly catching my falling tears, I could almost hear Him saying to me, “Why don’t you want me? Why am I not enough for you? Can’t you see how much I love you? Can’t you see how much you mean to me? Don’t you know how well I know your needs and hurts and desires? Don’t you understand that I know what is best for you? What more do I have to do to prove my love for you? Why can’t you just sit with me and
rest? Do you have any idea how much joy it would bring me if you just desired to be close to me, to be in my presence and be content? How much it would cause me to rejoice, just to know you love me in return? Surely, if you really knew and believed how much I love you, you would love me also!” In that moment, I also knew that because He loved me, He would never stop trying to prove it to me, no matter how many times I reject Him and neglect Him and hurt Him.
I recently finished Beth Moore’s study
Breaking Free. One of my most cherished weeks from the study is entitled, “God’s Unfailing Love.” In it Beth writes,
Love is not only something God does, love is something God is. God would
have to stop being in order to stop loving. Again, our temptation is to
humanize God, because we are limited to love as a verb. With God, love is
first a noun. It’s what and who He is.
You see, unbelief regarding the love of God is the ultimate slap in His face. The world came into being from the foundation of God’s love. God nailed down His love for us on the cross. Can you imagine the grief of our unbelief after all He’s done? …God has to be God to go through the rejection over and over again and still dare to love. …Beloved, no one has ever done more to show you that you were unloved than God has done to show you that you are loved.
She goes on to talk about the passage in Mark 12, where Jesus is asked about the first commandment. She explains how the Greek word for “first” is
protos, meaning “most important,” or “first priority.” She rephrases the question, “What should be our first priority? What does God want from us more than anything in life? What is most important to Him?”
And Jesus answered him, …“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with
all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.”
Does that sound like the chief desire of a parent or what? To be respected, yes. To be obeyed, yes. But to be loved?
YES, PLEASE!!Perhaps this period of rejection by Jack was allowed by God in order to get my attention. Who knows? I
do know that it was a lesson I’ll not soon forget or take for granted. I am so thankful for the opportunity to learn more about myself and my relationship to the Lord, all from being a parent. I’m confident that God uses every kind of relationship to give us a picture of His love for us, but this past week I have been grateful for His
Fatherly love and the tenderness with which He has sought me.
Tonight, as I held Jack before laying him in his crib, I prayed over him as we do each night. As I was praying, he began kissing my face again and again. Finally I just opened my teary eyes, mid-prayer, and looked at him. He had the sweetest smile on his face, as if awaiting my response. I said, “I love you, Baby!” He then leaned in for one more wet smack, smiled at me, and
nuzzled his head under my chin. Oh, how my heart swelled. Nothing in that moment could have been a sweeter blessing. Smelling his hair, feeling the warmth and stillness of his little body, limp in my arms, hearing the contented sucking of his thumb…I thought my heart would just burst.
Is this how You feel, Lord, when I rest in You? Is this how it feels when I stop running around and throwing tantrums and just rest against your chest, sheltered under Your wing? Is this even a fraction of the joy You feel when I am content and trusting of Your love for me? Is this the swelling Your heart endures when I delight in You? When I can’t help but love You? Is this the tender, innocent response that prompts You to go to the ends of the earth to prove Your unfailing love, again and again?“Though the mountains be shaken and the hills removed, yet my unfailing love
for you will not be shaken, nor my covenant of peace removed,” says the Lord,
who has compassion on you. Isaiah 54:10
And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love, lives in God, and God in him. 1 John 4:16
