The Winning Parent

When we got our dog, it was clear which one of us she favored.  Hint:  It wasn’t me.  I joked that it was fine that Sota loved Rusty more, as long as whenever we had kids they would love me more.

Enter Conlan.

The score is now Rusty – 2, Kristina – 0.

Oh, I know that Conlan loves me.  He knows who his Mommy is.  But I’m sure not Daddy, and he loves his Daddy.

By the way – I’m also not Grandma, Papa, or Grandpa.  I’m not his Auntie Becca, his Cousin Madden, or my own cousin Amy.  All of whom take precedence over me.

And you know what?  I don’t mind.  The more people who love my kiddo, the better.  And the more people that make him happy, that he feels safe with, and that he knows love him, makes me happy.

It used to be about winning.  Before entering parenthood I figured that if I was a good mother, I would naturally be my son’s favorite.  After all, I’m his mother.  Sometimes I think I should feel hurt that I’m not the winning parent, and I think it’s strange that it doesn’t really bother me.

And then I realize that’s ridiculous.  I’m not trying to be a good parent so I can win, “feel” excellent, or boost my self-esteem.  I parent because I love my little boy and God has granted me this privilege and responsibility.

Whether or not I’m a good parent isn’t measured by which of us Conlan prefers.  In fact, I think we’re both pretty darn good parents.  Conlan isn’t really good at keeping score, anyway.  If I have to concede victory to someone, I’m glad it’s my husband.


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