All I wanted was to be my mom's favorite child. All I got was this lousy misspelled T-shirt.

• I was my mom's third child, she told me that she didn't want to have another girl after my sister.
• I tried to be the perfect child so she wouldn't be so disappointed.

I was supposed to be a boy. I was going to be named David, yet instead of segueing right into Davida, my mother took that D and made my middle name Danielle. Then, for whatever reason, she named me Elana. Not Ilana, or Alana, or a name that people could actually pronounce, but Elana, only you pronounce it like Alana.

Five letters that would define me and all those little kids everywhere who would not have a keychain or a premade souvenir with their name on it. We would be part of the world of the censorious ones. Always feeling like fingernails on a chalkboard when someone would pronounce our names inevitably wrong.

I wasn't my mom's favorite child

My brother's name is Josh. And he got a hell of a lot more than just key chains, he got my mother's love. I wanted that too.

One day, later in life, my mother told me her true feelings. "Well, once your sister was born, I didn't want another girl."

I think I sensed this disappointment from the womb. It was as if I knew she wanted a boy, and so when I came out, wanted to be the perfect little kid. And so, I slept when she said it was time to sleep, and I ate when it was meal time, and I barely even cried.

I even let her cut my hair short. And found boys to be friends with over girls.

I finally got a shirt with my name — except she spelled it wrong

I am not sure what the impetus but one day, my mom decided to make me a decal shirt. She took a peach cotton T-shirt, a hot iron, and those five letters she got on sale at Odd Lot, and instead of decaling something cool, like Charlie's Angels or Sean Cassidy, she was going to give me something with my name on it — for all the world to see. I was finally getting something personalized since I couldn't get store-bought keychains.

She quickly pressed down on the letters with the iron. A working mother of three, she was distracted but ready to show her masterpiece. This shirt was going to show me that she did want me. And there it was. Four little letters: E-A-N-A. Eana, like some made-up Hawaiian name. My own mother left out the letter L on the shirt. She freaking forgot it. But no way was this shirt going to go to waste.

"Oh, dammit," my mother said.

Then without missing a beat, she took a black Sharpie and put a big fat arrow in between the E and the A and added that L on top. I had to wear that typo t-shirt all year. I even got the photos to prove it. Yet somehow, this t-shirt became my favorite one. I even took it with me on our family vacation to Key West. The caret faded and all that remained were the four letters EANA, but I loved it anyway because my mother made it for me.

Screw it, I didn't care. It had my name on it, and my mother made it just for me. No one else got a T-shirt. So, there you have it. I was now my mother's favorite. Better than any key chain around.