Anyone who says they don’t have a favourite kid is a bare faced liar. If you have more than one child, you without a doubt have a favourite. *Que the horrified gasps from parents*. Now I know people will be thinking it’s an awful thing to say, but in hindsight, we as parents know this to be true. The caveat on this though is that the favourite in question is not always the same child.
My hierachy of favourite kids change on a daily basis, the majority of the time on an hourly basis. Take last week for example, I pick the girls up after work, they’re happy as Larry, the second we get in Mila has a meltdown. She wants to drink the orange squash straight from the bottle, Lola is screeching at Mila and holding the bottle of squash above her head so she can see it but can’t reach it. Why didn’t Lola just put it in the cupboard where Mila can’t reach or see it you ask? Because that would of course been the most logical and sensible idea but no, Mum’s on the toilet just trying to have a 30 second pee in peace and obviously needs to listen to screaming in the highest pitch possible. Mila is now on one, whinging about anything and everything, Lola has slammed the door near off its hinges as she thinks I’m picking on her by having a go at the both of them and I want to launch myself out the window. This scenario concludes that Harvey is my favourite child as he’s at Football and not causing me any grief.
But as established earlier, this favourite kid malarky is a slippery slope, you can fall from the top just as quickly as you got there. Harvey had his position at the top for a good 4 hours, however the second he walked in the door his postion dropped quicker than a lead balloon. I didn’t even get a ‘hello’ before he had stormed in his bedroom to wind Lola up causing the start of World War 3,058 which then gave Mila a clear headway for first place.
After feeling as though I’d been banging my head against a brick wall for the last hour, it’s now half 7 and thank the frickin’ moon it’s bed time. After numerous toilet trips from Lola and Harvey seeing how many different ways there are to tell me goodnight after each of the 6 times he’s up, their bedroom door finally closes for the last time around 8.15pm and I can hear Lola snoring through the walls. Mila however has not followed suit in the means of falling asleep. It’s gone 9pm and Daryl and I are only 45 minutes through the 2 hour film we started over an hour and a half ago due to having to pause it each time Mila gets out of bed to let us know there’s a bit of fluff on her pillow or her tooth hurts. We get up to around excuse 54, ‘Mummy I brought you your sunglasses’, and Mila has now firmly claimed last position in the kid ranking. Daryl’s about to lose his shit and I’m trying to google if such a thing as a boarding nursery exists. I then turn to Mila and she’s gone. Crashed out. Completely sparko on the sofa next to us clutching my sunglasses that she so kindly thought I needed at this time of night. The long arse battle is over and I’m left looking at Daryl thinking ‘what the fuck’.
Now, I love them all to pieces, that should go without saying, but there are days like this one where parts of the day I like one just a little more than the other. It doesn’t make me an awful cold hearted mum, it makes me a sane one, because let’s be honest, who can actually hand on heart say that they particulary like anyone the same amount each and everyday? I know I can’t and my kids definitely aren’t an exception. But as I carry Mila to bed and stare at that innocent, angelic little face and do my final checks on Harvey and Lola soundly sleeping, all the dramas and stress of the day fade away and they all equally become my favourite. Resetting for the night ready for whatever tomorrow brings.