These discussions always make me think of an essay Erma Bombeck wrote in 1971:
It is normal for children to want assurance that they are loved. Having all the warmth of the former Berlin Wall, I have always admired women who can reach out to pat their children and not have them flinch.
Feeling more comfortable on paper, I wrote this for each of my children.
To the first born??
I?ve always loved you best because you were our first miracle. You were the genesis of a marriage, the fulfillment of young love, the promise of our infinity.
You sustained us through the hamburger years. The first apartment furnished in Early Poverty? our first mode of transportation (1955 feet)? the 7-inch TV set we paid on for 36 months.
You wore new, had unused grandparents and more clothes than a Barbie doll. You were the ?original model? for unsure parents trying to work the bugs out. You got the strained lamb, open pins and three-hour naps.
You were the beginning.
To the middle child?
I?ve always loved you the best because you drew the dumb spot in the family and it made you stronger for it.
You cried less, had more patience, wore faded and never in your life did anything ?first,? but it only made you more special. You are the one we relaxed with and realized a dog could kiss you and you wouldn?t get sick. You could cross the street by yourself long before you were old enough to get married, and the world wouldn?t come to an end if you went to bed with dirty feet.
You were the continuance.
To the baby?
I?ve always loved you the best because endings generally are sad and you are such a joy. You readily accepted milk stained bibs. The lower bunk. The cracked baseball bat. The baby book, barren but for a recipe for graham pie crust that someone jammed between the pages.
You are the one we held onto so tightly. For, you see, you are the link with the past that gives a reason to tommorow. You darken our hair, quicken our steps, square our shoulders, restore our vision, and give us humor that security and maturity can?t give us.
When your hairline takes on the shape of Lake Erie and your children tower over you, you will still be ?the baby.?
You were the culmination.?
Always made me smile. :) I don't know if my parents have a favorite or not...my brother thinks it's me, because he has always been, well...quite hard to love, if I'm honest. Very angry and defiant his whole life, and very capable of being cruel. And yet...even in his thirties, I can tell he is still that dark-eyed baby to my parents, the one they had when they were teenagers and were determined to do right by. I think they might like me more, sometimes, but they love us equally.
My ILs have a favorite grandchild...my son. :( I wish they didn't.