So, it’s 10:30 p.m., the kids are finally unconscious, and you’re halfway through a Netflix binge that’s more about zoning out than following the plot. Then, out of nowhere, your partner drops a conversational grenade: “Do you love the kids more than me?” It’s one of those questions that’s going to end badly no matter what you say, like asking if anyone really needs another meeting with the Parent Council or why the broadband mysteriously crashes every time the kids are meant to be doing homework.
Answer this question wrong, and you’re on the couch tonight—probably with a duvet that smells like someone’s spilled juice on it and never fessed up.
Comparing: Like Choosing
Comparing your partner to your kids is like comparing Irn-Bru to that one night out in Magaluf. One keeps you going through the daily grind, and the other leaves you exhausted and asking, “Why do I keep doing this to myself?” It’s not about loving one more, it’s about getting through the week without committing a crime or faking your own death.
With your kids, the love is primal. You’re responsible for these tiny, sticky creatures who somehow manage to ask you 37 questions while you’re just trying to pee in peace. Loving your partner, on the other hand, is a choice—a conscious decision to keep coming home even though they load the dishwasher like they’re playing Tetris on expert mode.
Who Gets the Best Version of You? Sorry, Nobody
Here’s the bitter truth: nobody gets the best version of you anymore. The best version of you existed at a time when staying up until 2 a.m. and doing shots of tequila seemed like a solid plan. Now, your partner gets the version of you that falls asleep fully dressed and occasionally mutters about the rising cost of council tax.
Your kids get the frazzled version of you that’s permanently trying to sort out fights over imaginary toy “rules” and rationing screen time like it’s the Cold War. Your partner? They get the version that’s only half-listening while you Google “weird rash on elbow” because there’s no NHS app for diagnosing this mess.
Terrible Flatmates Who Don’t Pay Rent
If we’re being brutally honest, kids are the worst flatmates you could ask for. They’re loud, they treat your house like it’s a Wetherspoons on a Saturday night, and they’re always mooching off you for snacks and lifts. They’ll empty the fridge, leave their crap everywhere, and then demand to know why you didn’t find their favourite teddy that they lost in 2019.
Your partner isn’t much better. They’ll leave their dirty clothes next to the laundry basket like it’s some kind of symbolic protest and pretend they don’t know how the hoover works, even though they’ve had an instruction manual for 10 years.
Validation: Kids Think You’re God, But You’re Just a Sweaty Human
Kids think you’re a wizard for doing basic adult stuff, like tying shoelaces or knowing where their lost school jumper is. They act like you’re a deity when you find their missing toy that was, let’s be honest, jammed behind the sofa cushions because they live to make your life more difficult. The bar is low, and you’re doing a low-effort victory lap.
Your partner, meanwhile, has seen you lose it because the Amazon driver delivered your package to another street again, and can vouch for the fact that you handle most life challenges by muttering “Jesus wept” and pouring another drink. They know the score: you’re human, and barely holding it together on most days.
Romance Isn’t Dead, It’s Just a Bit Hungover
Before the kids, romance was spontaneous and passionate—impromptu weekends away, maybe some risky PDA at a gig, and definitely not worrying about school run logistics. Now, romance is not criticising each other’s parenting tactics in front of a toddler who’s threatening to use scissors on the cat. Date nights mean trying to watch a film without both of you passing out on the couch at 9 p.m.
Romantic gestures these days look like handing over the good remote and pretending you don’t mind watching Bake Off for the fifth night in a row. And if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll both be awake enough for a shag before one of you passes out mid-attempt. Sexy, right?
The Hypothetical Sacrifice Question
And then there’s the question: “If you had to choose between me and the kids, who would you pick?” This question is the conversational equivalent of someone dropping their pants in the middle of a Parent Council meeting. You didn’t ask for this, and there’s no right way to handle it without causing drama.
If you say you’d pick the kids, your partner’s going to spend the next week acting like you’ve relegated them to the bottom of the love hierarchy, somewhere below the dog and above your Xbox. If you say you’d pick your partner, congratulations—you’ve just become the plot of every bad ITV drama where the spouse is the secret villain.
The only way out of this trap is to pull a move: deflect with humour and offer alcohol. Say something like, “Ach, you know there’s enough of me to go around, but not tonight—I’m knackered,” and pour them a gin. It won’t solve anything, but at least everyone will be too tipsy to keep arguing.
Different Kinds of Love, Like Choosing Between a Greggs Sausage Roll and a Proper Fish Supper
Let’s be clear: the love you have for your kids and your partner is fundamentally different. Loving your kids is an all-consuming, exhausting task that makes you question your sanity more than once a day. It’s like trying to keep your fish supper warm while walking home in the rain—you’re protecting it at all costs, but you know it’s getting soggy.
Loving your partner, on the other hand, is more about endurance. It’s knowing they’ll still be there when the kids eventually move out (God willing) and your hair’s gone grey from trying to negotiate 4-hour screen time limits without a mutiny.
Reality of Long-Term Love: Surviving IKEA Without Filing for Divorce
Forget the romance novels—real love isn’t about running through airports or delivering big speeches in the rain. Real love is going to IKEA together, navigating the soul-crushing maze, and not trying to kill each other by the time you’ve reached the tills. It’s understanding that “putting up shelves” is code for “arguing about screwdrivers and silently considering separate cars home.”
If you can survive building flat-pack furniture together without a massive fallout, that’s real love—more impressive than any candlelit dinner or drunken New Year’s snog.
So, Who Gets the Best of You?
At the end of the day, nobody really gets the best of you. Your kids get the constantly distracted, snack-wielding version of you that’s trying to remember whether PE is Monday or Tuesday. Your partner gets the slightly more present version, but even that’s not saying much—usually, you’re just glad if you manage to stay awake during Strictly.
And the cat? The cat gets the best version of you because the cat doesn’t judge and never asks, “Where’s the iPad?” or “Why don’t we have any clean pants?”
So, next time your partner asks, “Do you love the kids more than me?” try to keep it light and dodge with style. Say something like, “Don’t be ridiculous, there’s enough love for everyone—except the neighbour’s cat.” Offer them a whisky or suggest a takeaway, because most relationship issues can be delayed with the right amount of booze and carbs.
So, you’ve survived the “Who do you love more?” ambush and even managed to dodge the sofa of shame. But don’t get too comfy— here comes The Parent Council Bake Sale. Nothing tests your love for humanity more than a group of overly-keen parents acting like Mary Berry’s approval is the key to inner peace.