Before that age, children call it all normal because normal is simply the weather they grow up under. My mother’s preferences became rules without ever being discussed as such. Rachel’s needs became “urgent” more often than mine because Rachel was vivid, emotional, difficult to soothe, and therefore expensive to disappoint. My father moved through the edges of all this like a quiet maintenance worker of the family system. If Mom snapped, Dad calmed. If Rachel exploded, Dad distracted. If I folded myself smaller and easier and more helpful, Dad praised my maturity. Good girl. Easy child. So self-sufficient. My reward for not requiring too much was being required less.
It took me years to understand that neglect can disguise itself as admiration when the child being neglected is competent enough.