Her heart belongs to Daddy

Pointless and helpless in my defence, I sigh with defeat as the jury has spoken.

I am, alas, the second favourite parent.

No, no. Don’t bother trying to console me with dutifully sympathetic arguments. It is a fact that those of us in such a predicament must acknowledge and accept. (Bitterly.)

I had hoped that this was a miscount, but on a daily basis when the girls proceed to welcome Soccer Hubby home with a standing ovation (literally), I fear it is not.

I honestly don’t know where I went wrong. I initiate the craft time. I sit them on the bench and overlook the destruction it takes for them to produce a cake. I sew them the dress-ups they demand. I take them looking for the fairies in our garden.  

And the Peppa Pig episodes…. Oh the Peppa Pig episodes.

‘No.’ They still look to me with disapproval. ‘That is Daddy’s picture we have created and we simply can not allow you to look upon it with your non-Daddy eyes. Away with you!’

Not only do they stipulate such Father/VIP criteria, they reticule me daily for his work hour absence. 

‘Where is Daddy?’ Miss Boo will question as her eyes squint open on a new day.

‘He is at work, darling.’

‘How long for? When will he be home? When did he leave, Mummy? When????’ 

Naturally, this is followed by a routine tantrum and the ‘How many sleeps is it until the Daddy Days?’ meaning, of course, the weekend.

Wrangling both daughters as they thrash about in protests of ‘but I want Daddy to do my hair!’, I sometimes wonder if Soccer Hubby is fully aware of the repercussions of such a ranking.

I have often voiced the opinion that it takes a special kind of Daddy to have a little girl. Not because they need to be softer or approach situations with a gentle grace. No, no, no. They need to have balls. 

From the second that little girl looks into her Daddy’s eyes, she stares into his soul and thinks to herself  ‘Haha! Got him.’

They train these gentle giants from birth. ‘Look at me twirling and smiling, Daddy! Watch on as I melt your heart before your very eyes! I can do no wrong! I am but an angel!... Now, where is the chocolate that Mum hid from us?’

Countless occasions I’ve watched as Boo skips into the room wearing the smuggest of looks and twirling the iPad in her grasp. The iPad that I will allow them to play only in reward for good behaviour, and even then under a strict time frame. One bat of those lashes and her wish is his command.

Be not fooled by their shining ringlets and rosy cheeks, people! These girls could bring down an empire.

I tell myself that this is the only logical answer to my relegation. I’m not the neglected one, nay, I am the smarter of the two. 

Really, I can only smile and applaud such conniving genius at such a young age. I myself, being the eldest of two daughters, have exhausted this skill too. I still find myself calling my adoring father on the off day and cooing ‘Daaaad, I’m feeling horrid. Is there any chance you could nip up here and babysit the girls for me?’ which is answered when his car magically appears in the driveway seconds later in a trail of tyre smoke.

‘So will you try for a boy next, do you think?’ Daughterless people will occasionally ask.

‘No,’ replies Soccer Hubby. ‘Every Daddy deserves a daughter, I’ll have as many as I’m allowed.’

As he and every father of a daughter will verify, once you have been blessed with a baby girl, you will love and be loved with a bond unlike any other. 

Both parties are so drunk on the aroma of blind admiration, that the demands and consents become borderline crazy.

‘Daddy, can you score me a goal today at soccer?’

‘Yes! How many exactly and shall that be from the left or right boot, princess?’

It is just a fact as true as time. The tie between a Daddy and his daughter is bound with an unbreakable force of priority. (I should know, I’ve tried bloody everything.)

In that, I guess I should try harder not to compare myself. Ok, I get it. You win, they adore you. But in those moments when the taste of jealousy is pressed against my tongue, I need to remind myself that I have won the lotto of partners. In a world where some fathers are merely co-pilots in spawning offspring, I have found a real life paternal influence. 

So, it is with this knowledge that I hope ’favourite’ Dad’s with daughters everywhere have the steel balls they require.

Although Soccer Hubby strives daily to shatter any remnants of a glass ceiling and prove that his daughters have as much potential as any other human, I can’t help but wonder if there are some issues that he would approach differently based on their gender.

Sure, he will support the kicking of a soccer ball as highly as he supports the wearing of a tutu, but how will he react when one of his striker ballerina’s hearts is distracted by another?

Should a son walk in declaring he had been granted a first kiss, I’m sure it would be met with ‘well done champion, tell me about the lucky lady?’

Whereas a daughter offering the same information would probably end with some form of anxiety attack and a restraining order.

Yes, laugh now while they declare you their favourite and giggle at your Dad jokes, but there will come a day boys, when these beautiful creatures will turn.

They will demand to be dropped off around the corner and out of sight. They will roll their eyes and they will throw comments like daggers. Your attention will be sidelined for someone else’s. And, my condolences, they will date.

You will need to remember the moments you were number one. When they would swing from your arms and ask for just one more bedtime story. These moments will arm you with the emotional armour you need to ride out this storm.

Because there will come a time, when someone will break your princess's heart, and it will be at this point where you will need to stand strong and remind them that they are worthy of someone who will love and respect them as much as you always have. Someone who will be worthy of being your granddaughters favourite parent.

And boys, as a daughter, I can promise you this fact will always make you the favourite in her eyes.