Bobbie doesn’t want Mama, she wants Dad. I pick her up from school and she asks for him. I buy her a new pair of red shoes to match her brother’s, and she loves them. Trolling for her love, I ask her who got you your new red shoes? She says Dad. I hover next to and near her for a day, telling her everything she does is wonderful. I ask her if I can hug her, I pull her next to me while she watches TV. No Mama! You’re trying too hard, she’s saying. Why’re you looking at me, what are you expecting me to do? I remember that it’s all a phase and then try and remember what it was exactly like when I would lay on my side, counting the number of her strong kicks against my bladder and ribs. Today, after having spent the previous day not working, and shoving myself onto her, I need to work. I’m trying to get out the door. She chooses this singular moment to cling to me. I pick her up and she lays her whole body against mine and wraps her hands around my shoulders. Go with mama. And I just stand there with her, holding her, remembering that it’s not her job to love me, it’s my job to love her, whenever and wherever, even when she doesn’t want me to, and especially then.