I have a favourite child – and I expect I’m not alone

It’s a confession from the deepest, darkest underbelly of motherhood yet no person, ever, will know which child it is.

in terms of the highly delicate situation of child favouritism, I follow the wisdom of my father. Picture: istock

I have been calling various children who belong to me by the dog’s name, followed by the cat’s, for quite some time now. I go through the list of who on Earth they could possibly be, which is often followed by a despairing, “Who are you?” God knows why the dog often comes to mind first. Ah, motherhood. I do love them, of course, it’s just that there’s quite a few of them. And a lot going on in my head.

I have been calling various children who belong to me by the dog’s name.

I posted about this embarrassment on social media, and to my utter relief realised I wasn’t the only one who does this strange thing. “Mum’s mum would go through her pets, our pets, everyone else before she got to the person she wanted,” Ashleigh Meikle revealed. “I got Sally – her dog at one time – several times before she got to my name.” Michelle Scott Tucker: “My late mother, when particularly cross, would work her way through the cat’s name, the dog’s name, and each of my three brothers before she got to me.” Michelle Hollywood: “Me too, and nieces and nephews get a gong too.” I think it says a lot about all that’s going on in the child-crammed head.

And dear Reader, rest assured, the correct name is stumbled upon. Eventually. And I’ve not yet landed at the stage of my esteemed colleague up the back, one Phillip Adams. “I’ve reached the time of life when I need my family to wear name tags,” he posted on X. Ah yes, I can see the future quite clearly now.

My esteemed colleague Phillip Adams says he now needs his family to wear name tags. Picture: istock

And just to complicate matters, several children have snuck into my phone and attached three inflammatory little words to their names. “MY FAVOURITE CHILD”, in determined bold, has been added to a name in my contacts by not one but two scallywags. I have four, and can you guess which ones were so insecure in the birth order as to desecrate the sanctity of my contacts list?

The middle two. Of course. The eldest has no need – that one feels secure in his position as esteemed head of the kid-gaggle, certain of the glow of parental attention by mere order of birth. The youngest is also secure in the pecking order: he is the doted-on baby of the family who competes to be noticed amid all the noise/craziness with the one thing guaranteed to get a response from the rest of us – depth-charges of thoughtfulness. And it works. But the middle two, those self-declared “favourites” … all I can say is (laughing), “You little buggers. Always jostling for pole position, aren’t you?” (And yes, you’re kind too.)

Let me add, quite explosively here, that I do have a favourite (cue Cheshire cat grin). Sacrilege for a parent to declare but I suspect I’m not alone. It’s a confession from the deepest, darkest underbelly of motherhood yet no person, ever, will know which child it is – not even The Chap. In the vault it is sealed. But in terms of this highly delicate situation, I follow the wisdom of my father. He had seven kids between two families and we were always elbowing each other to be Number One.

His perfect response to the lot of us, when asked who on Earth that tantalising favoured one could actually could be: “I do have a favourite,” he would declare, with a cryptic smile. “But I’m never telling you lot. You’ll just have to work it out for yourself.” Brilliant, and brilliantly Machiavellian. Because my father’s reasoning was that we’d all be jostling for position; we’d all want to win this, and it would keep us on our toes. Oh, he knew what he doing.

As for remembering my childrens’ names, most beloved or not, they’re all equally inflicted with the pets’ monikers, quite regularly, and favouritism has nothing to do with it. There’s too much, I’m afraid, in this motherly head. They just have to know that they’re the centre of my world and they all, all, plume my heart, with joy and chuff and – what’s your name again?