Menu: Parenting
By Jamie L. Parker
Updated: Jan. 19, 2016
Originally Published: March 26, 2009
Let me start with a heartfelt disclaimer: my son means the world to me, and my love for him is just as profound as my affection for my daughter.
I cherished every moment of my pregnancy, always carrying my little one with me, feeling his kicks and dreaming about who he would become. When he was born and in the years that followed, I was convinced that no one could love a child as much as I loved Max.
For the first three years, it felt like we were inseparable. To put it accurately, we were more like conjoined at the leg. I was the mom who couldn’t sneak away to the restroom during music class or join the other parents in the kitchen during playdates. Max was either in my lap, clinging to my hip, or wrapped around my leg. He would wail if his dad put him to bed without me. While our bond was strong, I often wished for just five minutes of solitude.
Three years and four months of our exclusive connection passed before his sister, Lily, made her entrance into the world. Now, seven years later, I must admit that I don’t love them equally. I know that’s the politically correct thing to claim, but it doesn’t resonate with me. They are two distinct individuals, and my love for them manifests differently. Each child occupies a unique space in my heart that, while equal in size, takes on various shapes and forms.
When Max was a toddler, I would shower him with kisses from head to toe, and he would light up with joy. At ten and a half, those affectionate moments have dwindled to bedtime hugs and kisses. The sweet boy who once felt crushed by his own misbehavior has transformed into a pre-teen who loves to argue for the sake of arguing. Simple questions are met with grunts, eye rolls, and a tone that suggests he’s way too cool for straightforward answers. I often have to repeat myself multiple times before he complies with my requests. It seems like I’m always on his case, which is exhausting for both of us. I miss him during the day, but five minutes after he walks in the door, I feel overwhelmed! He can easily slip into a mood, and his self-centered tendencies make it seem like the world should revolve around him.
Connecting with him has become a challenge, and meaningful conversations often fizzle out after the obligatory “How was school today?” He’s passionate about sports, yet I find myself lost when he starts discussing trades or his fantasy football team. I take him to chess tournaments, but my advice is limited to “take your time”—and even I cringe at that!
In truth, I see so much of myself in Max. I feel his struggles and celebrate his achievements, whether he succeeds or simply tries something new. I’m proud of the kind, respectful, and thoughtful young man he is. I attend every baseball and basketball game, and I miss him when he’s not around. I invest a lot of energy into his well-being and happiness. We have our special moments, like listening to the weekend top 40 countdown and playing board games that are just for us.
Yet, despite all this, Max feels like I favor Lily more, and I can understand why. It’s true; I do have a soft spot for her. She allows me to express my love more easily. At seven, Lily is in her prime. I know this sweetness is a temporary phase, but I’m grateful for it. She’s eager to help out, brightens my mornings with requests for breakfast and “huggies and kissies,” and loves engaging in activities like baking and arts and crafts, which I enjoy too. She asks me about my day during dinner, and I can see Max noticing the joy on my face when she shows genuine interest in me. Her impeccable manners and eagerness to please make her a pleasure to be around.
The contrast between my interactions with Max and Lily is stark. While he’s often moody, Lily is a bright light, radiating joy and willingness to engage. The absence of electronic distractions makes our time together even more delightful.
Last night, Max told me that he believes I love Lily more than him. He’s always had a mature perspective, but I mistakenly thought he understood the difference between the affection Lily receives and the depth of my love for him. This is where I’ve fallen short.
Max may be wise beyond his years, but grasping the complexities of love and affection isn’t as simple as recalling NFL stats. These concepts can confound even adults, let alone a ten-and-a-half-year-old. I need to find ways to help him feel the love that overflows in my heart. Perhaps I can seize those bedtime moments for more hugs and cuddles, or slow down to engage with him in ways that resonate with him. Who knows? Tomorrow morning might bring a surprise when I share something new from the back page of the NY Post at breakfast.
In conclusion, while I am deeply devoted to both of my children, the way I express that love can sometimes create misunderstandings. It’s vital to ensure that each of them feels cherished in their unique way.
Keyphrase: balancing love between children
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