It started one quiet Sunday morning. The smell of pancakes filled the kitchen, and laughter echoed as our daughter, Lily, refused to leave my side.

“Mamaaa, carry me!” she demanded, her tiny arms stretched up.

I smiled and lifted her onto my hip, even though she was getting heavier every week. My husband, Ethan, stood by the counter, coffee mug in hand, watching with a playful frown.

“Hmm,” he muttered dramatically. “I remember a time when I used to get hugs in this house.”

I chuckled, brushing hair from Lily’s face. “You still do. Just… after she lets me breathe again.”

Ethan walked over and tried to take Lily from me, but she buried her face in my neck. “Nooo, Mamaaa!” she squealed.

“See?” he sighed. “My own child has chosen sides.”

I laughed as he pouted, pretending to walk away. “Fine, I’ll just go find someone else to make me pancakes.”

Lily peeked over my shoulder, giggling. “Daddy silly.”

“Oh, now I’m silly?” he said, turning back with a grin. “You only love Mama, huh?”

She nodded proudly. “Mama only.”

He put a hand over his heart, dramatically gasping. “Betrayal. Right in my own kitchen.”

I reached out and touched his cheek. “Don’t worry,” I whispered teasingly. “You’re still my favorite big baby.”

He smiled at that, leaning closer. “Good. Because your little one’s getting way too good at stealing my spot.”

And when Lily saw us hug, she wriggled her way between us—her tiny arms stretching out as she shouted, “Group hug!”

Ethan sighed, hugging both of us tight. “Okay, maybe being second place isn’t so bad