Well, it’s official — Miles has determined the roles Jaclyn and I play in his life and has started demanding we each fulfill those roles and ONLY those roles.
Jaclyn is the provider. She feeds him. She puts him to bed. She bathes him. If I attempt to intervene and take any part of this role over, Miles becomes angered and voices his contempt. This morning I merely approached him as he sat at the dinner table waiting to eat and he began shrieking. His intention was clear — “Out of the way. You’re not needed here. I want food. From mommy.”
So what role do I fill? I’m the clown. The jester. Miles locks his eyes on me, just waiting for me act silly or make some funny noises. While he is, as audiences go, easy to please, there are absolutely times when he is left wanting, staring at me blankly as if to say, “Is that all? This routine bores me.”
And I’m not the only one who’s noticed this. The other night, following an ill-conceived attempt on my part to feed Miles, Jaclyn could only say, “I’m sorry,” to me. And she meant it.
I guess I have to settle for being the primary goofball in Miles’s life. There are worse fates I suppose.
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 