Growing up, I firmly believed in the magic of childhood myths—like Santa Claus. The idea that a plump man in a red suit could somehow fit into our half-Jewish, half-Buddhist home to deliver gifts I had seen hidden in my parents’ closet for weeks? Sure, why not! Or that a fairy would reward me for leaving a tooth under my pillow? Absolutely! When peers teased me about still playing with dolls in middle school or snuggling with my mom at night, I just figured they were envious.
So, when I innocently posed my favorite question to my mom—“Who is your favorite?”—her reply felt like a warm hug: “Sweetheart, I don’t have a favorite. I love you all equally!” My heart swelled. What a beautifully fair response! Of course, I knew my brother was the only son and the eldest, while my sister was the baby, but surely my worth as a middle child was just as valuable, right?
Fast forward 30 years, and I wish I could still hold onto that belief. I had my first child, who, while not exactly an easy baby, was my absolute favorite. If you’re still in that blissful state of parenting where every moment feels perfect, you might want to stop reading now. My guess is if you’re truly in that zone, you aren’t resonating with my experiences at all.
For me, and likely many fellow parents navigating the chaotic world of child-rearing, the truth soon hit me like a ton of bricks. Toddlerhood happened. A surprise second pregnancy happened. Two boys under two happened. I realized my mom had been less than honest. She did have a favorite child, and so do I.
Let’s be clear: I’m not saying I lock one of my kids away like a scene from a fantasy novel. I don’t maintain a consistent favorite, but I can definitely say that at various moments, one child shines brighter than the other in my eyes. Why? Because toddlers can be a real handful.
As a former middle school teacher, I can say this: kids can be quite a handful. If I’m wrestling one of my boys to change a diaper while trying to dodge flying poop, he’s certainly not my favorite. Meanwhile, the other child, who is content to rummage through my wallet, is definitely winning in that moment. But later, when the wallet-rummager has a meltdown over pasta (and let’s be honest, it was just pasta with broccoli), well, congratulations—your brother has just been promoted back to my favorite for the evening.
Despite the chaos, love is the strongest emotion I feel for my kids. There are moments when I’m overwhelmed with affection, and it seems like my heart could burst. In those blissful instances, both kids bask in my love, and there’s no clear favorite. You feel blessed and grateful, as if you’ve hit the parenting jackpot.
However, parenting isn’t just about those perfect moments. It’s a wake-up call to admit the truth to yourself and recognize that your parents probably had their favorites, too. It’s a revelation that fills you with gratitude for what they managed to juggle. They were great at keeping the façade up!
So, when my children look up at me in their loud, messy glory and ask if I have a favorite, I’ll give them the same answer my mom did. I’ll smile and tell them they are all equally loved, even if I know deep down that’s not entirely true—after all, I might just delete this post later to keep my secret safe.
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Summary
The notion that parents don’t have a favorite child is often a comforting lie. As parents navigate the chaos of raising children, it’s common to experience moments where one child shines brighter than another. Love is abundant, but parenting is far from perfect. Embracing this reality can lead to a deeper appreciation for the complexities of family life.