In our household, âfirstâ is not just a position. Itâs a lifestyle. A philosophy. A sacred title passed down through dramatic declarations and lightning-fast foot races to the bathroom.
I have two daughters. One is 8, wise beyond her years and armed with the sass of a seasoned sitcom character. The other is 4, tiny but terrifying, with the energy of a caffeinated squirrel and the negotiation skills of a hostage negotiator. Together, they form a dynamic duo whose love is deep, whose rivalry is legendary, and whose daily mission is simple: be first.
đȘ The Doorway Dash
Every morning begins with a race. To the bathroom. To the breakfast table. To the front door. It doesnât matter where weâre goingâwhat matters is who gets there first.
âI’m first!â shouts the 8-year-old, sprinting like sheâs qualifying for the Olympics.
âNooo! Iâm FIRST!â screams the 4-year-old, who was still putting on one sock but now has the speed of a cheetah and the determination of a tax auditor.
They arrive at the door simultaneously, elbowing each other like tiny gladiators. I, the referee, declare a tie. They both protest. Loudly. One accuses the other of cheating. The other accuses me of favoritism. I consider faking a Wi-Fi outage just to distract them.
đœïž The Breakfast Throne
Even breakfast is a battlefield.
âI get the blue plate. Iâm first.â
âNo, I get the blue plate. I SAW it first!â
âDaddy, sheâs copying me!â
âDaddy, sheâs breathing near me!â
Eventually, they settle on identical plates, identical spoons, and identical cereal. But the 8-year-old insists she poured hers first. The 4-year-old insists she chewed hers first. I pour myself coffee and wonder if I should start keeping score.
â€ïž Love in the Time of Elbows
And yetâbeneath the chaos, the competition, and the occasional hair-pullingâthereâs love. Real, sticky, giggly love.
They build forts together. They share secrets. They defend each other like tiny lawyers when one gets in trouble. The 8-year-old reads stories to the 4-year-old, complete with dramatic voices. The 4-year-old draws hearts with both their names inside.
They fight for first, yes. But they also fight for each other.
đ The Final Lap
Someday, theyâll outgrow the race to the front door. Theyâll stop elbowing each other for the blue plate. They might even let someone else go first.
But for now, Iâll cherish the chaos. Because in this house, âfirstâ isnât just about winningâitâs about growing up together, one hilarious, heartwarming sprint at a time.
And if youâre wondering whoâs first in my heart?
Nice try. Iâm not falling for that trap.
