Competing

"You really need to get over this competitiveness thing," Alex warns.

"I'm not competitive, I just want to be the best," I say.

Okay, okay, so I think that is the very definition of competitive. But I don't want to compete to be the best, I just want to be the best. Does that make any sense? No, Alex and I are not running a foot race. Or having a dance-off. Or even entering a pie eating competition. Those things might be more appropriate arenas to bring it on, so to speak. I,however, am talking about parenthood.

I'm having some issues - okay, several issues - about not being home with the Bean. I want to be her fulltime caregiver. I want to be the expert on her wants and needs. I want her to smile and love me more than she does anyone else. Is that so much for me to ask?

Since being back at work (I know, it's been all of four-and-a-half days), I've felt like I'm on the outside looking in. It's not that any sort of explicit changing-of-the-guard took place, but there is this subtle (pervasive, if you ask me) undertone that makes a "we" out of Alex and the Bean, and an "I" (see, even the letter itself is all alone) out of me.

"We could come visit you at work today. When's a good time?" Alex asks.
"I have  a couple patients to see during lunch, so maybe in the afternoon," I text back.
Him: "We have to stop at the hardware store at some point."
Me: "Oh, I need some chai at the grocery store, too."

See what I mean?!? It's unbearable. We this, us that. I can hear them now, conspiring against me. We're just having sooo much fun without you. Wa ha ha ha.

"Isn't it understandable that I want her to love me?" I clarify.

" Of course it is. She loves you so much. You're her mama. Her only mama. There's no one she'd rather have staying home and taking care of her."

"Little Bear, your mama is kinda crazy," Alex whispers to Francie.
P.S. Alex told me he put breast milk in his coffee yesterday. That's strange and a bit crazy. So look who's throwing stones at a glass house now?!? Yeah.