There is simply nothing like being a mom. You are the Chosen One. You are the Favorite. You are Mom. Your baby prefers you above all others, even Dad. He holds his chubby arms up so you will carry him. He cries when other people try to hold him. If he could talk, he'd say, "Give me my Mom and a boob and I can take on the world."
Unless you have a twin sister.
Then, your baby gets confused. (We'll say confused because I refuse to think that he actually PREFERS her to his own mother who carried him for nine miserable months.) He doesn't shy away from her. He babbles happily in her arms. In fact, I'll be nursing him and then he cries for her to carry him when she walks by. This went on all last week. Over and over, I would say, "Sam! That's not your mom!" He didn't get it.
I thought he was obsessed with Amy until one day, Noah sat down in my lap and said, "Are you Mom or Ninang?" He asked me this every day we were together until the last day of our visit when he concluded, "No, you are Mom and Ninang."
So much for individuality.