Really, kid? Let’s not forget where your bread (or hamburger bun) is buttered…


I like to think that I am not a greedy mamma. I don’t ask for too much all my own in this godforsaken world. I am the queen of putting myself quite firmly in dead last in this family, not because I have to, but because I love my boys and their happiness means more to me than the breath in my body.

But, come on, a girl’s got her limits.

Jp has never said, responded, or even mimicked, “I love you”, to me. Although most nights as I am taking Jp up to bed to begin the long and sometimes boringly tedious process of getting him to sleep without the tears or screaming reminiscent of something out of a horror movie (it works, so I’m not complaining…but sitting on the floor of a pitch black room for twenty minutes up to as long as an hour can drive a person to madness, I tell you) Jp will respond with, “Wub you” to dadda on the way up. Okay, that’s fine. Dadda plays the best games, gives the best treats, and hardly ever makes you take a ‘time out’ since, for some terribly annoying reason, his voice and tone just seem to work. Jealous? Of course. But upset? Never.

But the final straw was last night. I am sitting in that darkest of dark room putting Jp to bed. After we sing the mandatory songs and the final whine has escaped and passed for the firm, “No more ‘again’, Jp, time for night night”, he is wiggling around -in typical Jpeezy fashion- trying to get comfortable and settled in (this can go on for bloody ever since his tiny little brain seems to never just shut off organically). As I am staring at the glow in the dark decals on the walls, I can’t help but contemplate how funnily ironic it was that when I put them up I thought they would be so soothing; I never knew I would have a child that fought sleep like a tiny tiger and couldn’t manage it until every last decal had faded to black. The things we just don’t know about our children yet when we are pregnant.

Still squirmy worms, Jp picks up his beloved bear, Lovey (“Wubby”), kisses it on the nose and says, “Night night. Wub you.”

Really?! Seriously?! You can’t love inanimate objects more than me! I can’t compete with the bear that lets you drop kick it over the balcony. I get that, in your little toddler brain, that Dad is the “fun parent”. I can even fathom that the bear that stayed in the NICU with you when I couldn’t be there is the center of your universe. But what about Mamma? All I want is one little “wub you” for myself.

I’m not being selfish (am I?). I am not asking for anyone to put me first, for Christmas sakes. I don’t mind if he actually loves the bear more than me. I just want to hear one measly “I love you” from my little guy. Though I suppose if I sit around waiting to be appreciated by my son I only have, say…18 or 19 more years to go, right?

If he wasn’t so goshdarn cute I might actually be mad. 😉


“Bow bubbles” Lol


All by myself!


Walking/bush beating stick


This child could find numbers anywhere…he’s obsessed!






Amber Perea View All →

I'm just living minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day.

6 Comments Leave a comment

  1. Maybe if your hubby did the carry up to bed and did the routine with him, he would say “wub you, mummy” on the way up?
    If it’s any consolation, Destroyer said “dada” at like 10 months, and just said “mama” for the first time not long ago.
    Children. Sigh.

    • Nope, so far nothing works. 🙂 But the cutest thing with Jp is that just when you give up hope he will “get” something…there it is! Besides, I’m the most logical next choice is me. Further posts if says it to the dogs first (they steal his food so I would hope I was next!). 😉

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