Last night the girls slept at my place. Around 8:30, out of nowhere, they started to come apart. No real reason. They got into it with each other, and the fight dissolved into both of them crying for Mommy.
I'll be honest about the thought that hits you in that moment, because I think every divorced dad knows it: Why are they crying for her? Am I not enough? Am I the bad parent? Why won't they cry for me? I'm right here. I'm on the floor with them, arms around both of them, doing everything I can to bring them back down. And they still want their mom.
Nights like that are heavy. They make you feel like whatever you're giving just isn't the thing they need. Like you're not enough.
But then morning came.
And both of them woke up happy. Both of them climbed into my arms and told me they loved me.
So here's where I've landed, as hard as some nights get: sometimes kids do things we can't understand. And that's ok, because they don't understand them either. Two little ones crying for Mom at bedtime isn't a verdict on you. It's a wave that moves through them, and then it passes, and in the morning they're yours again, and you were always enough.
If you're a dad reading this on one of those nights, you're not the bad parent. You're the one who stayed on the floor.
Roman