Yes.

I preferred your brother.

Of course I did.

How could I not?

After all, he was my first, and there is that special bond you have as a new mother, figuring things out, you and the baby are sort of a team.

You think of the baby as a collaborator or your employer more than your dependent. The baby cries and you try different things until he stops – you pick him up, offer him the breast, burp him…and when he smiles, you feel such pride in your success. Such relief that you figured it out that you won’t be the first mother to do go down in history with the baby that would never stop crying. 

Your brother was an easy baby.  He just had this accepting way of looking at me. He liked me right off.

You were different.  You did not like me right off, in fact, you seemed really unhappy to be wherever we put you – it didn’t matter where.  You cried in the bed, the high chair, in my arms.   You cried at night, and during the day.  You cried while being fed, while being nursed…you even cried in your sleep, making these little hiccupping sounds. It drove me crazy. You didn’t like me and I didn’t like you.

Then you grew up and you just had to be pretty, didn’t you?  You had to be pretty and smart and good at everything – you were even good at pretending to be good. You looked at me and I could see how irrelevant you thought I was. You didn’t admire me, you didn’t ask me for advice.  You were obedient but only because you were afraid of your father. 

Your eyes – they were so assessing.  You acted like I had no right to tell you what you could wear, or what you could do.  You dismissed me totally, and then you act all surprised and innocent that you’re not my favorite, that I would dare to favor the child who was pleasant to me all the time, who hugged me without thinking twice about it (you always seemed to be waiting for the judge to rule on some internal debate before hugging me).  You were rude to me.   You ignored me.

You didn’t see me for who I was, only for what I’d become.   Your brother never did that. Your brother made me feel pretty, and funny, and happy. He was easy to love.  You made me feel ugly and fat and old and stupid.  What’s to love about that?

Your brother made me feel like I was still the girl I once was. You made me feel like that girl never existed.

You are my child. Half of your genes are mine. Half your prettiness, half your intelligence, half of everything. But do you acknowledge this?  Ha.  You always acted so polite if I talked about  being prom queen or the sports I was good at.  Meanwhile your boredom and disbelief were as clear as if you’d printed “yeah, right, whatever” on your forehead.

You are half my child, and as hard as you find that to believe, I find it even harder.  Who would want a daughter like you?  You acted like you leaped from the forehead of God Himself. Oh, but you don’t believe in God, do you?  Too good for even Him, though I notice it never stops you from pointing out what you like to call my Christian hypocrisy.  That’s you all over, wanting it both ways – saying there’s no God, but chiding me for not doing what He would want.  Getting to be dad’s favorite, but resenting it that I have my own favorite, and nothing to do with you.

Because you were your father’s favorite, weren’t you?  He liked you best, because you were pretty and funny and smart.  That’s all the deeper it went, but that was enough for you both.  The other kids didn’t really have a chance, and you did nothing to make sure they got their share of his attention and love. You were more than happy to keep him to yourself. 

And when you turned into a little bitch of a teenager, I was glad that he turned on you.  I liked to see you flinch when he screamed your name, and I liked to see you run for your life when he chased you with the belt.  You always goaded him into it, and you always cried more than necessary. 

You never felt sorry for me, living with that monster all those years.  Now you want me to feel sorry for you, because I loved your brother best? You want to blame your problems on that? Fat chance.  What have you done to earn my love? You could have had it, easy. But you never wanted it.  From the very beginning, you pushed me away, even as a baby you were pushing me away.  It’s as if you knew how things would work out between us and didn’t want to waste your time with me.  I know the feeling.  Believe me, I do.

I’m never going to like you.  It’s time for you to accept that. I will always like your brother more.  You are just not that likable.  It’s always mystified me why the people around you don’t see this.  You’d think they would.  It’s plain as the nose on my face.