As a parent, having a favorite is frowned upon.
Oddly enough, since the twins arrived several people have asked me which one is my favorite. I smile and tell them I love all my children the same.
But that’s a big ol’ lie.
Truth is, I do have a favorite. If other parents tell you they don’t have a favorite child they are lying. They sit on the throne of lies and smell like beef and cheese. (If you haven’t seen Elf, you won’t understand that last joke.)
Out of all four kiddos, Lincoln is my favorite. If I passed out a gold star at the end of the day, Linky would be the well deserved recipient.
Now before you get all worked up and offended, let me clarify.
Lincoln is my favorite right now. It could easily change next month, next week, or even tomorrow. You see, my favorite child is a moving target.
Neala, you are two. In typical two fashion, you are dramatic, defiant and fiercely independent. If I had a dollar for every time you smeared something on your face, then refused help cleaning it off, I could retire at 40.
You wake up at 5:45 am and feel the need to come in our room and tell us you’re awake. *insert numerous crying emojis here*
The other day you were trying to boss Lincoln around. When he wouldn’t cooperate, you came and told me, “Yinkun not yistening to me.” I told you he didn’t have to because you were not his mother.
Now when I discipline you, you run around the house pointing your finger at me yelling, “Mommy, you’re not my mother.”
Sorry Miss Sassafras, you are not the favorite.
Jackson, you are a bobblehead. No, really. Your head bobbles around because your neck strength is minimal. You lack any and all motivation in every area except eating. You want to eat and sleep all day. Then in the middle of the night, when everyone is asleep you want to eat some more. Emmy is smaller and can sleep longer stretches than you through the night. What’s the deal Jack?
This means you cannot be the favorite either.
Emmy, you are high maintenance. You have reflux. Which is rather sad and I do hate to see you uncomfortable. Having said that, you are still high maintenance.
You have to be vertical after you eat.
You spit up. A lot.
It comes out your nose and you scream like a crazy person.
If your paci falls out of your mouth, you scream some more.
When you’re gassy, you scream in an octave I didn’t know was possible.
You’re not a bobblehead though, and have way more neck strength than Jack. So that’s nice. But all this high maintenance business takes you out of the running for favorite.
Lincoln. My handsome, sweet Linky Link.
At this point in the game, you sir are my favorite. Keep in mind, whoever sleeps the most tends to win the prize. And right now, you sleep the most and fuss the least. You eat whatever we put on your plate and only fuss for a few seconds when we wipe you off.
You follow Neala around the house and let her put stickers and hair bows all over you. She bosses you around and you take it like a champ. There is a smile on your face 90% of the time and when guests come to visit, they always comment on how sweet you are.
You’re only saying a few words. (Daddy, bubble, bye-bye, uh-oh, etc..)
I’m sure the fact that you can’t sass mommy yet has something to do with your status.
You also sleep through the night and take two awesome naps a day. Winning again.
Ironically, mommy fights off the most guilt about you.
Because you are so laid back and chill, it’s easy for mommy to get busy with the other kids. Half the day goes by and I am so distracted with feeding the twins and taking Neala potty, I suddenly realize I haven’t played on the floor with you at all.
Enter mom guilt. Major mom guilt.
The good news is, you don’t seem to mind. In fact, sometimes I try to play with you and you walk away. You’d rather play with Neala, or climb a piece of furniture.
All this makes me think about God, and how I view our relationship.
I grew up learning God loves all of us the same. He has no favorites.
Yet, sometimes I think God loves other people a little more than me. Or maybe loves me less when I’m not acting very “Christian”.
If I’ve had a hard day and lose patience with Neala.
When I’m sleep deprived and speak sharply to daddy.
Surely, I’m not one of God’s favorites if I’m a grump with a short fuse.
It’s easy to get caught up with taking care of the house and all of you.
I forget to thank God for healthy children, or for the friends and family who have helped us so much the past few months.
I can’t be on God’s favorite list if I don’t even thank him for what I have.
But that’s a big ol’ lie.
God loves me the same. No matter what. He probably loves me extra when I’m a crab apple.
As the four of you grow up, I want you to know and feel my love.
I also want you to know and feel God’s love.
He will love you when you’re disobedient children, know-it-all teenagers, and conquer the world college grads.
He will love you when you do right, and especially when you do wrong.
Mommy loves you. A lot. But God loves you more. He will never love you less when you make poor choices. He won’t love you more if you do everything perfectly.
He loves you unconditionally. You are all his favorites.
I guess that’s why He’s God, and I’m not.
Cuz I still have a favorite. 😉