By Marina of Slay-at-Home-Mum

At this moment in time, I am my daughter’s favorite person in the whole world. She’s 18 months old and, excluding the three days we went away on a family vacay (where I was a raging lunatic because I had my period AND forgot to bring my meds), it’s always been this way.

My husband is a very hands-on father – and she loves him to pieces. When he comes home from work, she’s the most excited little human I’ve ever seen. But after five minutes with him, she’s opening the toilet door to see what I’m up to. Usually I’m just sitting there Facebooking, so it’s no bog deal from my end (see what I did there?), but my husband can get a little frustrated at the fact that’s he’s always second choice. No doubt about it: she’s a mama’s girl.

I have to admit: it’s pretty cool. It gives me a fuzzy feeling on the inside. But sometimes the fuzziness is over-powered by fluttery-ness and I get a shit-load of anxiety instead.

Throughout the course of any given day, this special strain of anxiety doesn’t affect me – I’m constantly on the move. Nothing can break my momentum. I’m a big ball of mom rolling down the hill of life. And at the end of the day, when my daughter is finally asleep, I crash at the bottom — i.e. I sit on the couch with a mug of tea, Snuggie, and Game of Thrones. No time to think about anything too profound when I’m busy with so many important tasks.

But when I finally retreat to the quiet and solitude of the bedroom, it starts. I think about how much I love her and how devastated I’d be if something were to happen to her. I think about how much she loves me and freak out at the thought of something happening to me. I never worried about my health before she was born. Now, at the slightest hint of a lump in my breast, I screech and sprint for a scan. Or three.

I can usually put medical tragedies out of my mind, but I always get stuck on how damn much she loves me. Not just stuck – completely overwhelmed by the sheer force of her love for me. I always knew I’d love my child more than I’ve ever loved another person. I didn’t know exactly how it would feel until it happened, of course, but I had a rough idea. I never really gave thought to how much she would love me, though. Me, with all my imperfections, evil nappy-changing sessions, anxiety, yelling, and yucky vegetable feeding.

I always assumed, because Mom is the boring one that makes sure shit gets done, I’d be the bad cop. And Dad, being the rare, exotic sea creature we see every full moon – working full time and all – would be the good cop, the fun one, and therefore the favorite.

Perhaps this is the case in some families, but not in ours. I am her numero uno. And clearly very anxious about my ranking. Maybe it’s because when you’re number one, people are always working to knock you off the top. So maybe my husband is busy planning a father-daughter trip to Disneyland where hot chips will be consumed for dinner every night? Not sure that this is what’s making me anxious, but I’d be mega pissed if I missed an opportunity to mingle with Minnie Mouse.

Maybe my anxiety stems from ‘Favorite Best-Friend Syndrome.’ You know how at school, there’d always be that one person who everyone wanted as their best friend? And when you were it, you’d watch your every move to ensure you didn’t fuck it up? Maybe I’m paranoid of losing my ‘best friend’ title?

Or, what if one day, after she’s grown, she looks at me. Really looks at me — and realizes I’m just a loser who quit her career to eat nut bars and watch Pawn Stars on repeat? I mean, that’s not true, of course; that’s not all I do. I enjoy The Walking Dead and Vinyl, too. But what if that’s not the way she sees it? What if she wakes up one day and realizes that she spent all her life loving a woman whom she can’t look up to? A woman she’s ashamed of? What if I am not enough for my daughter?

I have to admit – I think this is it. Sometimes I just feel unworthy of her love; unworthy of being her favorite. It’s such a privilege and joy being her mom – how can I deserve this? But when I look at my mom, I feel nothing but gratitude, love, respect, and awe for her. All she has to do is be herself.

Why should Emi feel any differently towards me? I’m sure we’ll go through hell and back a thousand times (hello, threenagers, teenagers and college students during exam period), but we’ll always love each other, right? And even if she does decide that Dad is her new fave at any given time, she’ll still love me, just the way she still loves him when I am the fave – right?

Maybe, just maybe, I am enough the way I am. All I need to be is me. And I should just enjoy this time with her. Enjoy the fact that I am her favorite. Enjoy the fact that she’d rather sit on my lap while I’m on the toilet than be anywhere else in the world.

I like the sound of that.

So hey, brain? Shut up and let me mom.

*****

About the Author

Marina is a freelance writer living in Melbourne. She splits her days between the written word and (s)mothering her toddler. She has previously been published on Scary Mommy, Mamamia, The Good Mother Project, and Mamalode. Visit her website, Slay-at-Home-Mum, to connect with her and read more of her work.