It's not my favorite when my baby's diaper becomes unlatched inside his sleeper pajamas while we are grocery shopping and he pees all over himself like a tiny fire hose that is flailing in every direction so that by the time we get home he is soaked from his armpits to his knees.
It's not my favorite when Madeleine tells me that she is actually happy to go to school because she would rather be with her friends than with me.
It's not my favorite when I cut up an apple for Elisabeth's snack, just like I do every single day, and she announces that she does not like apples, nor has she ever liked apples and I must be mistaken.
It's not my favorite when the doctor tells me that my daughter has temporary hearing loss in one ear that can't be surgically repaired until she is twelve and therefore we may need to consider using a hearing aid for a few years and I have to watch my daughter burst into tears and cry the whole way home because she is still a child and therefore it is difficult for her to understand that her body isn't absolutely perfect. (PS- This is a tender subject at our house this week, so please don't mention it to your own children or ask me about it in front of my kids).
It's not my favorite when my daughter says I'm a little surprised, mom, that you felt like you could run errands in that outfit.
It's not my favorite when I lie down to go to sleep and the baby starts to wail.
It's not my favorite when I spend the first half of the day thinking it is Tuesday and find out the hard way it is actually Wednesday.
It is, however, my absolute favorite that Friday has finally arrived, we're having pizza for dinner, and for the next forty-eight hours Jeremy will be around to take a turn holding the baby.