All children are not created equal. It's not that I "love" one child more–but the quality of care your child recieves is directly related to the condition you bring your child to me in.
If there are two infants, and one smells sweet and clean, and the other smells like months-stale urine, guess which one I'm going to cuddle and kiss and play with more often? The clean child requires attention, food and maintenance. The filthy child needs to be disinfected so I don't gag while I hold her. I launder her clothes and blankets and carseat cover so that my entire house doesn't reek. I'm not playing with your child if I'm doing your laundry for you.
Just a quick tip.
Size two diapers are too small for a twentyfive pound infant. It really doesn't cost that much more to bump it up a size (or three).
Change the diaper before it overflows.
If the diaper overflows, launder the clothing, blankets and carseat cover. Soon.
It's okay to launder the above items regularly–even if the diaper never overflows.
Socks really cut down on foot odor. So does bathing. If the smell of your toddler and/or school aged children trigger my gag reflex, guess who I'm not holding on my lap at story time?
If your child consistently brings in a Starbucks cup and a Happy Meal, the other kids aren't going to like them very much. (Oh, and by the way, he never actually drinks that $4 cup of spiced chocolate milk. Ditto with the meal. He spreads it all out to taunt the other kids with, and licks a little ketchup off a corner here and there. Then he eats the food I serve, with everyone else. Who knew: kids actually like real food.)
Goldfish and Gatorade do not a meal make. And when the doctor told you fruit juice, I'm pretty sure he didn't mean koolaid. I dump it all down the drain the minute you leave. Except that bit she spilled on my new curtains and all over the floor.
I throw away all the little toys and knicknacks your child leaves at my house. And I enjoy it. It's like performing voodoo on the whole concept of "He/She took/touched/looked at my_______"
I never look for shoes. Ever. If they aren't in the bucket where they belong, I refuse to look for them. This cuts down dramatically on the number of times in five minutes they want me to take off/put on/tie/untie said shoes. Secretly, I hope they don't find them until you arrive. Sometimes, I even hide the really smelly ones outside the door.