by Betsy McMillin

Okay Parents. Time to face facts.

According to many studies, you have a favorite child. Never mind that studies don’t know you or your kids or your family unit. Chances are pretty good that whether you are able to admit it or not, you (we) all have one child that stands out just a bit, or sometimes, a whole lot. That kid who gets the bigger slice of cake, the extra bedtime kiss, more of your attention, more of everything.

Except grief. The extra grief goes to… you guessed it, LFC (Least-Favorite Child).

Burning question: Do I have a favorite child? My answer is a strong, definite yes. But more on that later.

Scientists look not only to us, but nature in general to see how numerous animals show favoritism in their offspring. Survival of the fittest at times, other times parents ensuring survival of the least fittest. Even times when extra eggs are laid just as insurance, in case Favorite doesn’t make it. A preference of one baby over another none the less. For this article, however, I think I’ll stick with humans.

In the October 3, 2011 issue of Time Magazine, Jeffrey Kluger (author of: The Sibling Effect: What The Bonds Among Brothers and Sisters Reveal About Us) looked at the science of favoritism.  From that article:

In one oft cited study, Catherine Conger, a professor of human and community development at the University of California at Davis, assembled a group of 384 sibling pairs and their parents and visited them three times over three years. She questioned them about their relationships and videotaped them as they worked through conflicts. Overall, she concluded that 65% of mothers and 70% of fathers exhibited a preference for one child, usually the older one. And those numbers are almost certainly lowballs, since parents try especially hard to mask their preferences when a researcher is watching.

Are you in that 65-70 percent? Maybe you are, but don’t want to admit it? Or maybe you are blissfully (or ignorantly) unaware that you, in fact, are?

It’s a tough call and tough to admit. We don’t want to do wrong by our kids and we surely don’t want to knowingly shower more love on only one child. It is apparently the little things we do. The sometimes unnoticed, subliminal things we slip into every day life. Maybe it is a just a bit more of a heartfelt, robust cheer at Favorite Child’s sporting event, or the tone of voice we use with Most Favorite versus LFC. Perhaps it is the propensity to not get as upset over something Most Favorite did, or to get more easily annoyed and agitated by LFC.

While there are some advantages to being Most Favorite, there can be disadvantages as well. And advantages to being LFC. From Time:

Being the favorite may boost self-esteem and confidence. But studies show it can also leave kids with a sense of arrogance and entitlement. Unfavored children may grow up wondering if they’re somehow unworthy of the love the parents lavished on the golden child. But they may do better at forging relationships outside the family as a result of that.

Being Number One can lead to entitlement. Who would of thought? See the Parent Trap, March 20, 2011, “The Entitled Nation,” for more on this.

Preparing our kids for life is our goal. Seeing them through to happiness, health and hopefully prosperity. The kicker is, no matter what we do as parents we will, without doubt, mess up our kids in some way (or at least have the blame put solely on our shoulders). If a kid is favorite it can be good. If a kid is favorite it can be bad. Being LFC can lead to either as well. So why all the fuss?

All the fuss is because it just seems wrong to look at your beautiful, smart, equally incredible and unique children and say “You know what? You, my sweet child, are just a bit better than the others. And you others?  Well.. you’re just…. not.”

So that leads to me, Parent Trap Mom with the question: Of my six kids, do I have a favorite? To which I answer yes.

I most certainly do have a favorite child. The thing is, the child that is my favorite changes from day-to-day, week-to- week, month-to-month. Sometimes minute-to-minute.

Right now I am loving my three-year-old a bit more, enjoying the endless cuddling that comes with her age, the silliness, the mispronounced words. I am eating up the endless, unconditional love. The reading of picture books, the smell of her cuddled up with me after her bath. It is also because the sassiness I know is coming hasn’t hit yet.

Then the next day comes, and she is clinging to me, demanding too much snuggling when I have a mountain of things to do. She is constantly, unwaveringly interrupting as I try to have a decent conversation with my 15-year-old. Then my favorite switches. Quickly.

I find the intelligent talks with my oldest to be so interesting and I enjoy the complex humor we can share. I love to read her papers, look at the comments from her teachers and smell which perfume she most recently likes. I have known her the longest, loved her the longest. She is my first miracle. I must love her the most. Then she hits a crappy teen moment and she is obviously no longer my favorite.

So I look to my refreshing 10-year-old, her sunny disposition, her pre-tween way of thinking and the fact that she is still a little girl. I love to watch her play her heart out at a hockey game, then sit quietly and draw or read. I am then certain she is my favorite. Minutes later, she is nasty to her little sister. She quickly drops to LFC for now, so I move on to my 12-year-old-son.

I could watch him play hockey forever, and I am a loud, Hockey Mom at his game. Inside, I cheer just as loudly, as fiercely, as I watch him play mini-hockey with his little brother or when he shows him how to organize sports cards. I look in the room they share and see him reading the latest Star Wars book to him. I am so thankful for his easy going, good nature. The way he never complains, even when he gets the short end of the stick. That he always does his homework without being reminded. This one, I am sure, must be my favorite.

Then he thumps his brother on the head, antagonizes the heck out of the dog, pesters me. Bye, Bye, Favorite Child.

My five-year-old must be my favorite. He is so darned cute, such a little boy. I love the pride he shows every day as he shows me his latest kindergarten masterpiece. He wants me to do puzzles, throw the baseball to him, play Legos, yet still wants to snuggle a lot. Yes, this age and this child is my favorite. Until he tantrums over just about anything and cries at everything. From Favorite Child to LFC.

Then I see my almost eight-year-old. Yes, she has to be my favorite. This one needs a bit more from me, most of the time. This is the one with a medical need, a learning problem, constant nightmares.  She is more insecure than the rest. She is beautiful, kind, imaginative and silly. Quiet and loud at the same time. Her sweet nature pulls me in. She is my favorite because she needs it, demands it. Until she needs me too much, too often and I just can’t make it all work.

Some days I have six favorites. Other days? None.

I guess some experts agree with favoritism changing, shifting.

Again, from Time:

Whichever child is the favorite, once patterns are established, they’re hard to break. Still, favoritism can fluctuate, depending on what are known as family domains. There’s what happens inside the home and what happens outside it, what happens on the soccer field and what happens in the living room. The ex-jock father who favors his athletic son may be driven to distraction by the boy’s restless energy when it comes time to have a conversation. When Dad is looking for quiet parent-child bonding, he may turn to his daughter. Over the course of a childhood, the son may still come out on top, but the daughter will get enough attention that the disparity may not wind up being significant.

What to do if you do have a favorite? Lie, lie, lie I guess. Or admit it to yourself and try to not show it as much. Check your favoritism issues at the door when you walk in.

Time:

If you absolutely must have a favorite (and you must), keep it to yourself. Even if your kids see through the ruse, the mere act of trying to maintain it can help them preserve the emotional pretext too — a bit of denial that does little harm. What’s more, the effort it takes to tell a benign lie is in its own way an act of love toward the unfavored child.

So see? LFC gets an advantage yet again.

If I do have a favorite I don’t know it, but my children’s current standings in the love category may seep through at times. Can’t be helped. I am no good at lying.

My ten-year-old has some serious middle child syndrome issues, and apparently LFC insecurities as well. I am now keenly aware of it. Yet things creep up, some favoritism (or just lack of enough lunch supplies) shows up.
About two or three times a week, I can be sure my ten- and eight-year-old will come home from school, and my ten-year-old will be ready for yet another battle with me.

“Why did she get a better lunch?” she will demand. “You know I love Laughing Cow cheese and you gave it to her instead!” or “She got a better snack! You do this ALL the time!”

She is obviously keeping serious tabs and she feels incredibly like a LFC. I swear, I don’t do it on purpose. And for those past readers, yes, they are supposed to be making their own lunches (see The Parent Trap, April 3, 2011, “The Entitled Nation Becomes The Enabled Nation”). Yes, my control issues continue.

My kids joke about being my favorite, but I hope that deep down inside, each one is laughing, thinking “I know Mumma loves me best!”

Because I do.