Everyone has a favorite child. I’m certain of it, the way I’m certain that one of my children will have a sudden bout of irritable bowel syndrome three minutes after I’ve cleaned the the toilets.
I don’t think the favorite is always the same, I think it’s whoever is easiest for the parent at that particular time. Still, it’s not something a good parent should admit.
I keep the current favorite child status stashed in the part of my brain where I keep the things I’m ashamed to admit. It has some pretty disgraceful companions up there, like the fact that I often* eat that special treat one of the kids is saving on the counter and then tell them the dog did it.
*often = all the time. Absolutely all the time.
Or that sometimes I’ll just throw away a toy that’s been on the floor for a week because I’m too lazy to go find the set it belongs to.
Or that I think they were homely as babies.
Tell me that one’s not just me. That I’m not the only parent to have that moment where you look down at your infant and hear Kevin McCallister saying “Buzz, your girlfriend! Woof!”
Most often this happens to me when I’m looking back at baby photos of my kids who have since grown into the features that made them … awkward … as infants. Like this picture of my daughter, who has grown into a beautiful little girl but in this baby photo bears a striking resemblance to Junior Sinclair.
Or this one of my son, who I happen to think is the cutest baby in the history of babies, but who also looks a little* like Quasimodo when he sleeps with his eyes open:
*a little = a lot. Like 110%.
I have a theory that the one you think is the most awkward is your secret all-the-time favorite. Like “yeah he looks like a baby falcon, but he’s my baby falcon.”
And there you go. Sunday night’s reminder that if you’re feeling like you blew it this weekend, if you’re feeling like an awful parent, at least you didn’t just tell the world* you thought your babies were ugly.
*the world = five readers. Maybe less.