You crawled into bed with me this morning after the sun rose. My arms wrapped around you and I breathed in your hair. You smell of the shampoo you didn’t wash out of your hair last night when you giggled in the shower with your brother.
Your little body nestled against mine and I felt your bones relax. Your soft cheek brushed my chin, and I thought, “Ahh, you’re my favorite.”
I would never say those words aloud, of course, because parents aren’t allowed to have favorites.
But, at that moment, in that space, my heart was full of you.
My attention was 100% focused on you and only you as if we were the only two people in existence. I allowed myself to think that you were my favorite because, for that moment, you were.
Later today, you and your brother played at the playground while your Daddy and I sat on a rocky cliff overlooking the Baltic Sea.
Worn down over time by rain or by couples sitting in that exact same spot for hundreds of years, the rocks were smooth and surprisingly comfortable for rocks.
Our bones relaxed into the hard granite and I nestled my body into his and thought, “Ahh, you’re my favorite.”
A while later, your brother climbed up the rocks to join us. His head found my lap, and I stroked his hair.
His blonde, floppy hair that so desperately needs a cut but is so wonderful for running my fingers through.
I felt his body nestle into mine and he murmured, “I love you, Mama,” and I thought to myself, “Ahh, you’re my favorite.”
You see, all of you are my favorites. You each hold a special place in my heart that only you can keep.
When I was a kid, I thought that a person could only have one favorite. As a mother, I know now that I can have an infinite number of favorites.
You’re my favorite, and so is your father, and so is your brother, and so on and so on. And the special love I feel for each of you magically doesn’t detract from the love I feel for any of you. My heart is full of favorites.