There’s no denying it—I’m the preferred parent. When my child wakes up in the middle of the night, it’s my name she calls. I’m the one she rushes to when she’s hurt or when we come home together. Yet, this role is more burdensome than I ever anticipated.
Initially, I believed being the favorite would be a purely joyful experience. One of my motivations for becoming a parent was to bask in the unconditional love that only young children can offer. Over the past two years, I’ve certainly enjoyed countless heartwarming hugs and the thrill of being part of her many toddler escapades. However, this joy comes with its share of challenges.
Being the favored parent means I’m always on standby. I know that when my child cries out at 2 a.m., it’s me she’s calling for. On those rare evenings when I manage to escape for a bit of time to myself, I find myself worrying about how bedtime is going. Often, I return home to find her still awake, having cried for me for hours. The thought of even a weekend getaway feels impossible. I’m also perpetually in close proximity to my child—my legs are often clutched, my arms tugged, and my ears constantly pulled at.
For instance, just this morning, my daughter woke up at 6 a.m. and called out, “Mummy! Need mummy!” It was my designated day to sleep in, but my partner, Jake, groggily got out of bed while I nestled deeper under the blankets. Despite the monitor still being on, I heard my partner greet our daughter, only for her calls to escalate into frantic cries: “No! Not you! Mummy!” I turned off the monitor, but the sound of her cries tugged at my heart, and I eventually gave in and headed downstairs, still half-asleep.
The most difficult aspect of being the favorite, though, is the impact it has on my partner. When our child calls for me, she’s indirectly dismissing Jake. And when Jake responds, the rejection is painfully clear: “No! Not you! Mummy!” At her young age, she doesn’t understand the hurt her words can inflict or the need for tact. It’s even more complex since we are a two-mom family. Unlike many families where favoritism can be chalked up to a traditional mother-child bond, my child’s preference is a direct choice between two mothers. This leads to moments where Jake, frustrated, wonders aloud, “Why does she H-A-T-E me?”
It’s essential to clarify: our child doesn’t hate her other mother. On some mornings, she greets Jake with open arms, and we both receive our fair share of hugs, kisses, and colorful scribbles. Bedtime stories read by Jake are cherished moments that I often miss out on. When our child says, “I love you,” it’s always heartfelt. However, the reality remains that I hold the title of the favorite.
We try various strategies to address this favoritism. Whoever is closer tends to pick her up when she falls. Despite the chaos, I still make an effort to go out at night. When she cries as I leave, I keep walking, reminding myself that it’s essential for both of us. Jake reassures me, holding our screaming child, “It’s OK! We’ll be fine! You go out!” And I do go out, and everything is fine.
When Jake asks, “Why does she H-A-T-E me?” I remind him that she loves him with all her heart, even if she’s currently calling for me. I comfort both of us by acknowledging that this favoritism is temporary. One day, the tables may turn, and Jake may become the go-to parent for secrets, homework help, or mending a broken heart. There will be a day when our little one becomes a teenager and yells at me, “I hate you!” On that day, we’ll remind her: “You don’t have to choose between us; you’re loved by both of us, unconditionally.”
In our home, there’s only one true favorite: it’s our child.
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