My baby has ditched me for her dad and I don't get it. I mean, I like the guy too but does she have to jump out of my arms every time he walks in a room? Or make a mad dash when she hears his car? She comes barreling at him full speed as if I've been torturing her for the couple hours he's been away. As if that isn't enough of a kick-in-the-pants, she's taken to calling him "Mama." That's my name, Buster. I remember hearing from a parenting expert that around 18 months it's normal for a child to transfer primary affection from the mother to the father, but I never expected it to happen to me. I mean, I'm a really fun mom. Or at least, I thought I was. But it turns out I'm just Beyoncé's backup singer or maybe the eager-to-please, opening band everyone tolerates until the headliner they really want to see decides to grace the stage. Either way, it's insulting to play second fiddle to someone whose idea of a balanced meal is a combo of hard pretzels dipped in peanut butter ("full of protein!") and who doesn't bother to ever change her out of her pajamas ("she likes layers"). When the two of them get together there's no nap schedule, no mealtime (but endless snacks!), and no shoes-it's a shoeless snacking frenzy of fun. Oh, I get it now. He really is more fun than me. Is your little monkey waiting around for Papa to arrive? Soothe the "Waves of Mutilation" you might feel and remember there's enough "La La Love You" for everyone with Rockabye's Lullaby Renditions of Pixies.