No one can give me the brush-off like my 16 month old daughter. I work full time. Because of this, I desperately want every moment we spend together to be a wondrous adventure, filled with hugs and kisses and warm, loving moments. This is all fine and dandy, but my smaller, more stubborn counterpart in this complicated dance often has very different ideas about the way things are going to be.

On a typical morning, I enter her room, bottle of milk in hand, and sing “Good morning! Who’s awake in here?” She looks up and smiles broadly with an enthusiastic, sunbeam of a smile. The smile that is meant for her bottle of milk and sadly, not for me. She reaches for it and promptly sits back down in her crib, clutching the beloved source of morning bliss with both chubby dimpled hands. She guzzles vigorously, ignoring my downstretched arms. She is clearly not impressed with the person who delivered the goods, and does not want to be bothered with me until she is finished. I retreat and rustle around in her dresser for something presentable for her to wear. She eventually allows me to lift her from her crib, change her diaper, dress her, sing a few songs, and set her back in her crib with some toys while I get ready for work. She plays contentedly by herself, engrossed in her books with a remarkable display of concentration for someone so young.

Today, I loaded up the car and brought her to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Grandpa met us at the car like he does every day and as I got her out of her car seat he said “Where’s our Maggie?” again, like he always does. She laughed and smiled and reached for him. I walked in behind the two of them and helped grandpa get her out of her coat. I asked for a kiss goodbye and she pushed my face away with her hand and started waving buh-bye. I was not ready to say good-bye yet, but she seemed eager enough for my departure. It seems I had grown tiresome. I blew her a kiss and walked out the door. I knocked and waved to her from outside the kitchen window. Like some kind of needy parental peeping Tom. I stumbled in a snowbank and waved enthusiastically. A bit frantically, really. I yearned a response. Something. Anything. From inside Grandma and Grandpa's house, my daughter gave me a quasi-blank stare and limply waved a hand in my direction as though to say "Yeah, mom. I'm fine. Would you leave already?"

I went home for lunch the same day, and she and Daddy were hanging out at home. He had picked her up from Grandma and Grandpa's around noon. She sat in her toddler chair watching Sesame Street with her legs pulled up. I gave her an excited greeting, and crawled over to her on all fours to plant a kiss on her pudgy cheek. She glanced up, gave me a half-smile and shifted her eyes back to the television. She smelled like Apple juice. Grover was making some kind of clay sculpture, which had her riveted. Again, she was not so impressed with mommy.

Some days it’s hard not to feel bad. But there she is, finding things that interest her that have nothing to do with me. Looking at the big picture, this is a good thing. Children are meant to develop confidence and independence, and to forge their own way. I have always tried to give her room to develop a sense of competence. But the child is not even 16 months old yet. Doesn't she need her momma? Because Momma's not afraid to admit that she likes to feel needed evey once in a while. Especially by her baby (voice wavering and holding back tears).

Just about the time I start to take things personally, it seems the pendulum swings back the other way. When I try to cook dinner, she gets between myself and the stove and pushes me back, desperate for my attention. She raises her arms to me. She wants to be picked up. Held. She wants ME to hold her up to see the goldfish swimming in the tank. She wants ME to chase her around from the kitchen to the TV room, through our bedroom, down the hall and back again. Over and over and over, giggling all the way. She clutches a book hopefully in her hand and plops right down in my lap. She lets me tickle her back under her pajamas. She wants to sit quietly in my lap while she drinks her milk. She lets me carry her like a baby, even though she is well over 30 pounds, as we say ni-nite to daddy and then to the goldfish in the tank. Finally I lay her in her crib and gently toss her blanket up in the air so it billows and falls gently over her. I am the one who tucks her in every night, gives her a kiss and says "Goodnight sweet girl. Momma loves you". Then I sneak back in her room hours later, when she is fast asleep to put her socks back on her pudgy little feet.

It's hard to admit as a parent that the moments when you feel needed by your child help to fill up your gas tank. Those little people are supposed to rely on us. We aren't supposed to rely on them. On the same note, I don't think it's wrong to admit that the exuberant hugs and kisses bring us joy and make our jobs easier. Those moments make parenting more rewarding. They make us feel like we are doing a good job.

Although my daughter is not even 16 months old, I know that the moments when I feel needed might become rare down the road, especially in the teenage years. And you know what? Even if she gives me nothing but the brush off, I have to be okay with that. Because I am the mom. If I get nothing but "the hand" every day for three years, it is still my job to come back for more. Her only job is to develop and grow and become independent one little step at a time. Her job is to learn to make her own decisions. And at a certain point, I have to let her.

When I found out I was pregnant I thought a lot about what kind of a parent I would be. I promised myself that I would never forget how much I wanted to have a child. That I would never ever forget that bringing my daughter into the world was my decision, and that no matter how scary things might get, I went into this with certainty and excitement. I have a feeling there will be times when I will need to remind myself of that.

In the mean time, I think it's okay for my heart to melt a little each time she sighs and rests her head on my shoulder. It's okay to want her to need me. Even when she acts like I am the last person in the world she wants hanging around, I will know in my heart that she still needs me. I will know because I am the mom.