Do You Have a Favorite Child? A Parent’s Honest Look at Sibling Dynamics
The other morning, I was standing at the kitchen counter, packing two lunches. My eight-year-old, Leo, wanted a turkey sandwich with the crusts cut off. My five-year-old, Maya, wanted leftover pasta. It was 7:15 AM. I was tired. I grabbed the bread, made the sandwich, and slid it into Leo’s bag. Then I scooped the pasta into a thermos for Maya.
As I zipped up the bags, Maya looked at me and said, “You cut his crusts off. You never do that for me.”
She was right. I don’t cut her crusts off. She has never asked me to. But in that moment, to her, it was a sign. It was evidence of a hierarchy. I felt a familiar pang of guilt, the kind that seems to come standard-issue with having more than one child. I kissed her head and told her I’d cut her crusts off tomorrow if she wanted, but the question lingered in the air, unspoken but heavy: Do I love him more?
The short answer is no. The complicated answer is that sometimes, in specific moments, it might look that way.
The Myth of Equal Love
We are told, repeatedly, that we will love all our children equally. It’s a nice idea. It’s also a bit of a setup. Love isn’t a fixed quantity like a gallon of milk that gets divided into equal cups. It’s more like a relationship, and every relationship is different because every person is different.
Leo is my cautious, thoughtful one. He likes quiet, needs warnings before transitions, and will talk your ear off about the specific mechanics of a rocket engine. Maya is a hurricane in tiny sneakers. She is loud, physical, and impulsive. She feels everything at volume eleven.
Because they are different people, my parenting of them looks different. I am a different parent to Leo than I am to Maya. With Leo, I am a calm explainer. With Maya, I am a boundary-setter and a referee. Does that mean I favor one over the other? No. But it does mean that on any given day, one of them might be easier to parent.
The “Easy” Child vs. The “Hard” Child
This is where the myth of favoritism usually starts. It’s rarely about who you love more; it’s often about who is easier to be around in a specific season.
When a child is in a calm, cooperative phase, it is easy to enjoy their company. You laugh more. You have more patience. When a child is in a defiant, whiny, or clingy phase, it is hard. You are tired. You are touched out. You are managing behavior rather than enjoying connection.
I remember a stretch last winter when Maya was waking up at 5:30 AM and refusing to eat anything green. She was miserable, and consequently, so was I. Leo, meanwhile, was in a golden phase. He was reading independently, helping set the table, and generally being a pleasant human. I found myself gravitating toward him. I would sit with him while he read, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. When Maya would enter the room, I would tense up, bracing for the next meltdown.
I didn’t love Leo more. I loved being with Leo more at that moment. That distinction matters. And it’s a distinction we often miss when we are in the trenches. We feel guilty for enjoying the easy child and frustrated with the hard child, and we label that feeling “favoritism.”
The Perceived Favoritism
The real issue isn’t necessarily how we feel internally; it’s how our kids perceive it. Children are incredibly attuned to fairness. They are watching how we distribute our attention, our reactions, and our rewards.
In our house, we have a rule about “special things.” Leo has baseball. Maya has swimming. Leo gets to stay up thirty minutes later because he is older. Maya gets to pick the bedtime story because she is younger. We try to balance the ledger.
But kids don’t always see the ledger. They see the crusts cut off.
When Maya called me out that morning, I didn’t argue. I didn’t say, “But I packed your pasta!” Because to her, the crusts were the symbol. I acknowledged it. “You’re right,” I said. “I did cut his crusts. You’ve never asked me to, but I can see why that feels unfair.”
Acknowledging the feeling without agreeing that there is a favorite child is a delicate balance. It validates their experience without confirming their fear.
Practical Shifts
So, what do we do when we feel that pull toward one child, or when we sense that our kids are keeping score? It’s not about grand gestures. It’s about small, consistent adjustments.
First, identify the “currency” of each child. For Leo, love is spelled T-I-M-E. He needs me to sit and build Legos with him, even if I’d rather be folding laundry. For Maya, love is spelled A-T-T-E-N-T-I-O-N. She needs me to watch her do a cartwheel for the tenth time and actually clap. If I try to give Maya time and Leo attention, neither feels filled up. They need what they need, not what I think I should give them.
Second, I try to catch myself when I am about to make a comparison. It’s easy to say, “Why can’t you get ready like your brother?” That is a direct injection of favoritism into the room. Instead, I try to keep it specific to the child: “Maya, we need to get your shoes on now.” It’s harder. It takes more mental energy. But it stops the sibling rivalry from getting fuel.
Third, I try to have “one-on-one” time that isn’t about errands. It’s easy to have one-on-one time when you are dragging a child to the grocery store. That doesn’t count. I try to carve out twenty minutes a few times a week where I do exactly what the child wants to do, no siblings allowed. It doesn’t fix everything, but it fills the tank.
The Reality of the “Favorite”
There is a common joke among parents of multiple kids: “I don’t have a favorite child. I have a favorite child based on the time of day, the weather, and who is currently screaming.”
It’s funny because it’s true. On Tuesday, Maya might be my favorite because she is being sweet and funny. On Wednesday, Leo might be my favorite because he is being self-sufficient and kind. But the underlying current is the same. I am committed to both of them. I am equally invested in their well-being.
The guilt about having a “favorite” usually comes from a fear that we are damaging the other child. But the damage doesn’t come from a feeling. It comes from a pattern of behavior. If a child feels consistently ignored, or consistently blamed, or consistently compared, that is when the wounds happen.
If you are reading this and feeling guilty because you think you might have a favorite, take a breath. It doesn’t make you a bad parent. It makes you a human parent. We are wired to connect with people who are easy to connect with.
The goal isn’t to force yourself to feel exactly the same about two different people. The goal is to make sure both of them feel seen, valued, and secure in their place in the family.
Last night, I cut Maya’s crusts off. She didn’t ask, I just did it. She looked at me, smiled, and said, “Thanks, Mom.”
Leo looked up from his book and said, “Hey, you didn’t cut mine.”
I looked at him. “Do you want me to?”
He thought about it for a second. “No. I like the crust.”
And there it is. They are different. They want different things. And my job isn’t to be fair in a way that makes them identical. It’s to be fair in a way that makes them feel loved. It’s an ongoing project. Some days I get it right. Some days I cut the crusts off the wrong kid and have to apologize. But we keep going, one lunchbox at a time.
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