People who haven’t embarked on the journey of parenting will sometimes inquire, “Who’s your favorite?” And while some parents will automatically reply I don’t have a favorite, the truth is, I sort of do.
Because he’s my favorite. He is.
He’s my favorite because he still needs me constantly.
And he’s my favorite because he has become so independent.
He’s my favorite because I look in his eyes and I see my dad.
And he’s my favorite because I look in his eyes and see their dad.
He’s my favorite because he has the sweetest little singing voice I ever did hear.
And he’s my favorite because he has the sweetest little reading voice I ever did hear.
He’s my favorite because he is overjoyed by the presence of the biggers.
And he’s my favorite because he is content being smooshed right in the middle.
He’s my favorite because he never compromises on what he wants to do.
And he’s my favorite because he just wants to make everyone happy.
He’s my favorite because he is content to come and go as needed.
And he’s my favorite because goodbyes are especially hard on him.
He’s my favorite because he wants to do so much for himself.
And he’s my favorite because he still wants our help.
He’s my favorite because he loves to help in the kitchen.
And he’s my favorite because he wants me on the floor with him at all times.
He’s my favorite because he’s my constant sidekick.
And he’s my favorite because he is gone so much more.
He’s my favorite because he tries so hard to get everything exactly right.
And he’s my favorite because he marches to the beat of his own drum.
He’s my favorite because I mostly know how to make it better.
And he’s my favorite because he challenges me and keeps me guessing.
He’s my favorite because he is often off in his own world.
And he’s my favorite because he wants to know everything about the world we’re all in.
He’s my favorite because he is still in diapers.
And he’s my favorite because he is finally out of them.
He’s my favorite because when he’s sweet, he’s sweeter than anything else.
And he’s my favorite because his heart is as kind as they come.
He’s my favorite because he is so innocent.
And he’s my favorite because he is so curious.
He’s my favorite because he wants me to kiss it when he has a bump.
And he’s my favorite because he wants us to cut it off.
He’s my favorite because his first word is mama.
And he’s my favorite because his first word was dada.
He’s my favorite because he can run like the wind.
And he’s my favorite because he wants to run like the wind because his brother does.
He’s my favorite because we have silly conversations.
He’s my favorite because we have serious conversations.
And he’s my favorite because he can’t talk back.
There are things… in each of them… qualities that I particularly enjoy. And am thankful for. And things that drive me completely insane. It is the differences between them that, on any given day, make him my favorite. It’s like having a constant checks and balance system in my universe… these three little boys are the gifts that keep on giving.
Because he’s the oldest.
Because he’s the middlest.
Because he’s the baby.
Because he’s fascinatingly unique and magnificent. Truly one-of-a-kind.
Because he’s him, he’s my favorite. At some point in every day, he’s my favorite. It was something that scared me, if only just a tiny tiny bit before I had two… and then three… that I would like one better than the other. But the truth is, because of everything they each possess — the sweet and the low — they are each my favorite. And I’ve got a feeling that no matter what happens, no matter where the years take us, that truth will always remain.
Yes. He’s my favorite.
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