After church about a month ago Tucker insisted on accompanying Austin downstairs to help him fulfill his duties on the vestry and count the offering (note: 15 month-olds are typically very helpful for these sorts of things). I luxuriously kicked back in my pew with no toddler to watch, and introduced myself to the relative newcomer next to me. I mentioned that Tucker is such a Daddy's boy right now, and all he wants to do right now is to be with his Daddy.
She nodded knowingly, and even had a name for this phenomenon: the POC, or the Parent of Choice. She spoke of it as a dubious distinction bestowed by a child randomly, revoked randomly, in which one parent walks on water for awhile in the child's eyes.
When Tucker was little and I had his food (ie nursing), I was definitely the POC the majority of the time. Now the tables have turned, and Austin is getting to bask in the glow of unending Tucker attention. Can Mommy change a diaper? Not as good as Daddy can right now. Can Mommy put Tucker to bed? Not as good as Daddy can right now. Can Mommy feed Tucker? Not as well as Daddy can right now.
So, hats off to the POC of the month! That is an honor that is very nice to have bestowed on someone else. In the meantime maybe Ben and I will curl up on the couch together and take a nap.
