Updated: Jan. 19, 2016
Originally Published: March 26, 2009
Let me start and end with this: I cherish my son deeply and love him just as much as my daughter.
I truly enjoyed my pregnancy, carrying my baby everywhere and feeling him kick while dreaming about who he might become. When he was born, I was convinced that no one could love a child more than I loved Max. For the first three years of his life, we were inseparable—well, more accurately, I was his personal anchor. I was that mom who couldn’t step away for a moment, whether it was during music class or at a playgroup. Max was either on my lap, clinging to my leg, or demanding my attention. He would sob if his dad tried to put him to bed without me. While our bond was strong, I often longed for just five minutes of privacy.
Three years and four months into our little bubble, my daughter Lily came into the world. Seven years later, I must admit: I can’t honestly say that my love for them is equal. I understand that’s the socially acceptable way to think, but I’m not sure what that really means. They are distinct individuals, and I love them in unique ways. The space they each occupy in my heart is the same size but has taken on different and evolving forms.
When Max was a baby, I would shower him with kisses from head to toe, much to his delight. Now at ten and a half, our hugs and kisses are limited to bedtime. The little boy who once was heartbroken over disappointing us now seems to enjoy arguing for the sake of arguing. Questions get answered with grunts, eye rolls, and a tone that suggests annoyance, rather than a simple yes or no. Getting him to follow through on requests often takes multiple reminders. I find myself on his case constantly, which leads to exhaustion; I miss him during the day, only to wish he’d vanish five minutes after he gets home! He can easily become moody and self-centered, expecting everything to revolve around his wishes. Ah, the joys of being ten—it’s not always pretty.
Connecting with him on a deeper level has become challenging; meaningful conversations are rare after the obligatory “How was school today?” Max has a passion for sports, yet I struggle to dive into discussions about them. He rattles off trades and stats while I nod along, having no clue what he’s talking about. He excels at chess and piano, neither of which I have any skill in. I attend chess tournaments, offering nothing more than a generic “take your time.” Even I cringe at that wisdom.
The truth is, I see so much of myself in Max. I feel his sadness when he’s down, and my heart swells with pride when he tries something new. I am proud of the kind, considerate, and thoughtful person he is. I cheer for him at every game, and I feel a void when he’s not around. I invest so much thought into his growth and happiness. We have our special moments, like our weekend countdown of the top 40 songs, driving around to catch each one. We enjoy board games and share books that are just for us.
But despite all that, he feels that I favor Lily, and I understand why. Because I do. She makes it easy for me to show my love. These days, expressing my affection for Max in a way that resonates with him has become more difficult.
At seven, Lily is in her golden age. I know it’s a precursor to her teenage years, and I’m more than willing to embrace it. She’s enthusiastic, helpful, and genuinely sweet. She requests a bowl of cereal along with “huggies and kissies” for breakfast. She effortlessly does her chores and loves helping around the house. We share interests in baking and arts and crafts, activities I enjoy too. During dinner, she asks me about my day, and I can see the smile on my face, knowing Max notices her genuine interest in me. Her impeccable manners shine, and she often beats him to the punch when it comes to kindness. She has the capacity to soak in all the love I give her, while still leaving room for Max’s affection, which he often shuns.
Lily is also hilarious and keeps us all entertained. I can spend the entire day with her, and conversation flows effortlessly. She loves to play dress-up in my shoes and blazers, asks for a bit of makeup, and sings joyfully in the shower. She skips around the house in her pajamas and slippers, radiating pure happiness. Unlike Max, she’s not preoccupied with electronics, making our time together free of conflict.
Last night, Max expressed his feeling that I love Lily more than him. He’s perceptive; he always was the wise one. I assumed he could differentiate between the affectionate attention Lily receives and the love I hold for him. This is where I’ve missed the mark.
Though he may be wise beyond his years, understanding love and affection isn’t the same as remembering sports stats. Love, ego, validation—these are complex concepts that can bewilder even adults. At ten and a half, he’s not equipped to fully grasp it. I must find ways to help him feel the abundant love I have for him. I can take advantage of his need for affection at bedtime, squeezing in more hugs and cuddles. I can slow down and make a concerted effort to connect with him in ways that resonate. Maybe I’ll even surprise him with some interesting news from the back page of the NY Post at breakfast tomorrow.
In conclusion, while favoritism might exist, it doesn’t diminish the love I have for either child. Both Max and Lily hold unique places in my heart, and I’m determined to ensure they each feel that love in their own special way.
For more insights on navigating parenting dynamics, check out this interesting read on Modern Family Blog. If you’re considering at-home insemination, Make a Mom offers excellent resources for couples. For further information on pregnancy and fertility services, Hopkins Medicine’s Fertility Center is a great place to explore.
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