Having a favourite twin is normal, according to twin charity TAMBA (Twins and Multiple Births Association). Thank goodness for the expert seal of approval, as every day I find myself picking a favourite.
When the twins were babies my favourite was invariably the one who was asleep. It was amazing the love I felt for that little snoring bundle, while his screaming brother was expelled from my good books.
Now that they are older my favourite can swap from hour to hour, if not day to day. At meal times I am in love with the boy who opens his mouth like an appreciative baby bird, lapping up whatever I have laid on. While the one who clamps his jaws shut, swinging his face away in disgust at the muck I am trying to force down his throat earns himself a big black mark.
At bath time, I am in love with the boy happily playing with his rubber duck, allowing me to wash his hair without screaming and opening up to let me brush his pearly whites. The one who is scooping up bathwater in a plastic tub and flinging it across the floor soaking me, the bathmat, towels and everything else in the vicinity, I am not so keen on.
At bedtime the twin who curls up on my lap, listening to a book and gently pulling down the flaps to find the hidden animals. The one who lies down in his cot, plugs his thumb into his mouth, eyes fluttering closed. He is top dog. The one whose reaction to hitting the sheets is to rear up, rigid with indignation, lungs filling to let out blood curdling screams of anger at the very thought of sleep, he goes straight to the bottom of the class.
Fortunately, over any given week it I think it works out pretty even and usually each twin ends up as my most and least favourite for roughly the same amount of time.
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