This morning Tommy asked me, “Who’s your favorite?”
“My favorite what?”
We were watching Teen Titans Go at the time so I assumed he meant which Teen Titan. That, of course, would be Raven…or Beastboy…or if Raven and Beast Boy had a baby, that would be the ultimate. Though I do tend to cheer for sad Robin a lot. And I find myself a little heart-sick over Cyborg who is the only one that’s half-robot. That’s gotta be a struggle. Then again, who wouldn’t want to be Starfire? Am I right, ladies?
“Your favorite child.” he answered.
I laughed. He asks me this all the time. Usually after he’s done something amazing and I praise him for it.
“That sand castle is really cool, Tommy!”
“Thanks Mom! Do you say that because I am your favorite child?”
But this morning the only thing he has done is brushed his teeth, which is a lot more than the other two have accomplished, but still. It’s not favorite-child worthy.
“I don’t have a favorite. I love you all the same.” I say for the billionth time in my life. And it’s mostly true. I’m not saying I pick a favorite, but there is a teeny tiny moment every single day when I might like one more than I like the other two. It’s just a sudden spell, but it does exist…and don’t try to say you don’t have it!
But Tommy doesn’t buy it. “Mom, tell the truth, you have a favorite.”
“I really don’t. You’re all so different that I love you in different ways.”
Then Tommy moves in close. He lays his sweet little head on my shoulder and says, “C’mon, I’m the only one up. They’ll never know.”
He’s good. Almost too good for 8-years-old. I wiggled away from the endearing little punk before I confessed my undying love for him.
“Go get dressed for school, ya bum!”
He walked down the hall to his room, and I heard him mutter, “yep, I’m definitely the favorite.”
For now, my son. For now.