Milkbank Blog
Playing Favorites
Be honest. Do you have a favorite child? If you don’t have children yet, do you think your parents did?
I’ll go first. Yes and Yes.
My brother was the favorite growing up. He was the baby and the only boy and my parents were much older when he came along than when they had my sister and me. I suspect that had more than a little to do with it. I’m sure they had grown and mellowed as parents by the time he was born and being the baby, well, I think most mothers have an extra tender spot for them.
Not that I think my parents loved me or my sister any less. It was just different. Like how you can love cheesecake and macaroni and cheese equally but they are very different things. Sometimes you are just more in the mood for one than the other.
When I was getting ready to give birth the second time I agonized over how could I possibly love any other baby as much as I loved my older son. I couldn’t, I was convinced, and decided surely I couldn’t be the only mother who felt that way and by golly, I would just learn to accept that fact.
Man was I ever WRONG WRONG WRONG. The minute that second baby arrived I was swooning, head over heels. Madly in love. For a few months I think he overshadowed my older child just a little bit. I mean really, how can you not dote on an adorable new baby every minute of the day? I still loved my first born just as much, but suddenly it was easier to love the baby than the slighted and not at all happy about it three year old. It took a little more patience and resilience and thought.
I noticed recently that the balance seems to have shifted. A year later my older son is so much more engaged, level headed about things, funny and a joy to be around. He’s my favorite companion hands down and I miss him terribly when we are apart and I can’t wait for him to wake up and start the day with me.
That’s not to say I won’t go weak in the knees when the baby starts to talk and says I love you for the first time. It probably will coincide with a major attitude adjustment as my oldest prepares for kindergarten and I can already tell what that is gonna look like. I don’t think it will be pretty.
Something tells me this is a constant ebb and flow of parenting and one thing is for sure, I wouldn’t trade either of them for all the cheesecake AND mac and cheese in the world.
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