Every mother has a favorite child. She cannot help it. She is only human. I have mine, the child for whom I feel a special closeness, with whom I share a love that no one else could possibly understand. My favorite child is the one who was too sick to eat ice cream at his birthday party, who had measles at Christmas, who wore leg braces to bed because he toed in. Who had a fever in the middle of the night, the asthma attack, the child in my arms at the emergency ward. My favorite child spent Christmas alone away from the family, was stranded after the game with a gas tank on E, lost the money for his class ring. My favorite child is the one who messed up the piano recital, misspelled “committee” in a spelling bee, ran the wrong way with the football and had his bike stolen because he was careless. My favorite child is the one…
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