Look, I know what folks think when they see my kid running around the house in nothing but a superhero tee and underwear like it’s a fashion statement. I get the side-eyes at playgroup. The whispers from other moms at the park. “Is she even trying to discipline him?” “He’s gonna grow up thinking the world owes him everything.”
Yeah, okay. But here’s what they don’t see.
They don’t see how he bursts into giggles when I let him help “fix” the couch with a plastic screwdriver. Or how proud he gets when I let him pick his own outfit—even if it’s socks on his hands and his swim trunks in December. He feels like a big deal, and honestly, he is. To me, at least.
I don’t care if he wants to play chef in the living room with pots and plastic lemons or march around like a tiny mayor of chaos. He’s kind. He says “please” to the dog. He tells me when the plants look thirsty. So yeah, maybe I let him color outside the lines a little.
His dad thinks I’m too soft. Says I let him “run the show.” But guess who he calls for when he skins his knee? Or when he wakes up scared from a dream? Guess whose hand he reaches for when he wants to show off his latest “invention”?
Not his dad.
That’s why I’m the favorite parent.
I can already hear the eye rolls from people who are reading this, probably thinking, “Of course, the mom is going to say that.” But here’s the thing: I’m not just letting my son run wild for the fun of it. I’m letting him be himself, in the safest, most loving way possible. He has a world to conquer, and I want him to know that he has my full support in doing so—no matter how messy it gets.
Take last Tuesday, for example. We were running errands, and I let him choose the route to the grocery store. Sure, we ended up taking the scenic route, driving through a neighborhood I hadn’t seen in years, but you know what? He was so excited about his “big decision.” He was talking a mile a minute, explaining how he would build a treehouse one day, and how we’d put a slide on it so we could go down faster. His enthusiasm was infectious.
When we finally got to the store, I didn’t mind when he wanted to spend 20 minutes in the toy aisle, dragging out all the stuffed animals to compare their sizes. Some moms might have been in a hurry, annoyed by the time it was taking, but I didn’t care. We had time, and this moment was important. This was his world, and I wasn’t going to rush him through it just because of a to-do list.
My husband, Greg, would never have let that happen. He’s more about structure and limits. “We’re here to get food, not play with toys,” he’d say. And I get it. Structure is important, but sometimes I think it comes at the expense of allowing a child to dream. To wander. To get lost in their own thoughts and fantasies. To be a kid.
But here’s the thing: Greg’s discipline-first approach might be all well and good, but our son is always looking for me when it’s time to relax, when he needs comfort, when he just wants someone to listen. I’m the one he runs to when he needs to talk about something that scared him at school, when he’s upset about a small thing that doesn’t make sense to an adult but means the world to him. And I cherish those moments, even though they sometimes seem trivial.
The other day, Greg and I had a disagreement about our son’s latest “invention.” This time, it was a spaceship made out of cardboard boxes. I didn’t mind. I told him it was great and even helped him paint the “control panel” with markers. But Greg? He thought it was too much. He was worried about the mess it would create in the living room and that it would set a bad example for our son, teaching him that he could do whatever he wanted without any real responsibility.
But here’s what Greg didn’t understand: our son was learning responsibility in his own way. He was learning how to plan, how to think creatively, and how to execute a project. Sure, it was messy. But it was also a chance for him to explore his world in a way that felt empowering. And when he was done, he felt proud. He’d even asked to clean up after himself, which, let’s be honest, is a small victory for any parent.
Now, don’t get me wrong. There are times when I have to step in. When the tantrums go too far, or when he’s about to do something dangerous, I’m there. But in general, I want him to know that it’s okay to make mistakes, to try things, and to experiment. I want him to grow up knowing that his worth isn’t determined by how well he follows rules but by his creativity, kindness, and the way he treats others.
And sure, I hear the criticisms. “He’s going to be spoiled,” “He won’t know boundaries,” “You’re making him entitled.” But here’s the twist—I don’t think that’s true. In fact, I think it’s the opposite.
Because the one thing Greg doesn’t see is that by allowing him the freedom to express himself, I’m also teaching him the value of respecting others. I’m teaching him how to take ownership of his actions. When he makes a mess, I don’t clean it up for him. He does it. And when he forgets to do his chores, I don’t yell at him—I ask him how it can be fixed. Together, we figure it out.
And here’s the kicker: I’ve noticed that over the last few months, he’s been more mindful of his actions. He’s been more considerate, more empathetic. He’s started to understand that with freedom comes responsibility, but he’s also learned that mistakes are okay. They’re part of growing. In his mind, the world doesn’t have to be rigid. It’s flexible, full of possibilities, and there’s always room for creativity. He knows I’m here to support him, and that’s why he trusts me with his feelings.
Greg has started to see the positive changes too. He’s seen how much our son has grown in his ability to problem-solve. He’s noticed how confident our son is when he talks about his ideas. And I can tell he’s starting to come around. He’s letting go of his need to control everything, slowly but surely. But he still has a long way to go.
And, I have to admit, I’m starting to see a change in him. The other day, after Greg had helped our son with one of his “inventions,” he looked up at me, a small smile on his face. “You know, he’s got a good imagination,” Greg admitted. “Maybe I’ve been too hard on him.”
And that right there? That’s all I needed to hear.
The truth is, we’re both learning. We’re both trying to figure out how to raise a child who is confident, compassionate, and resilient. And while I might be the “favorite parent” now, I know it’s not about playing favorites. It’s about giving him the space to become who he is meant to be, with the right guidance, the right love, and the right support.
So, to those who judge, or criticize, or question how I parent my child—thank you. Because your doubt only strengthens my belief that I’m doing what’s best for him. I’m letting him be his authentic self, even if that means he walks around the house in his superhero tee and underwear, or decides to paint his socks pink.
In the end, I know that letting him explore and create isn’t just about indulging his whims—it’s about letting him learn how to be himself. And isn’t that what we all want for our kids?
If you’ve ever faced criticism for how you parent, remember this: no one knows your child the way you do. Trust your instincts. Keep raising them to be kind, to think outside the box, and to have the courage to be themselves. The world could use a little more of that.
If this story resonated with you, don’t forget to share it with others. Let’s support each other in raising confident, creative, and compassionate kids who will one day change the world.
