As a twin, you had a 50% chance of being our family’s middle child. You came into the world two minutes earlier than your brother. We became a family of three and can define the oldest, middle, and youngest child.
When you were born, I immediately focused on our differences. You bore a striking resemblance to my mother-in-law and refused to eat. How could you even be my child? You spent a week in the NICU, and regretfully, I did not see you often. I was recovering from a complicated c-section and caring for a newborn and a toddler at home. Honestly, I didn’t feel strongly connected to you in those early days.
Despite that initial lack of connection, I find a new reason each day to adore you, and many times it is our differences that I now admire most about you. You wouldn’t allow me to put you down when you were a baby. You fit perfectly in the crook of my arm and cried the moment we weren’t touching. As an almost ten-year-old, I cherish the moments you ask for “mommy huggies” and snuggle into my arms like a missing puzzle piece.
You will never suffer from “middle child syndrome” because you make yourself known and command our attention entirely.
Middle child, you entered this world a complete individual, vocal about who you are and what you want. As a grown-up, I wish for a portion of the self-assurance you exhibit daily. Watching you makes me feel braver and stronger because I know that even though we are so different, that part of you came from me.
You are fierce. You know what you want and don’t often waver from it. You hold onto your desires and fight to get what you want. As I write this post, you rationalize why I should give you Twizzlers after you just had an ice cream cone. When you are determined, it is tough to sway you otherwise. This doesn’t make it easy to be your mom at the moment, but you exhibit qualities that can be admired in hindsight.
You are brave. You dance on stage in front of a large crowd, participate in new activities, go on fast rides, and try new foods. You want to fly to London to see the Queen, ride a motorcycle, and live in New York City as a grown-up.
You know who your people are. When we visit a park or social setting, you leave your siblings and command the attention of a new group of children. You are sociable and friendly. You easily move from the known (playing with your brother and sister) to the unknown of new playmates. I am in awe of your ability to befriend a wide variety of children, both girls and boys, and easily fit into new groups. This year we switched soccer teams, and you quickly bonded with the team.
On the flip side, you do not feel the pressure of people-pleasing. Nothing will force your hand if you don’t want to associate with someone. You know who you are drawn to and stay away from those you are not. You are not mean, but you know who your people are.
You are unapologetically you. I clearly remember asking you what a letter of the alphabet was. You answered incorrectly and laughed when you knew you were wrong. You let the failure roll off your back and moved on. As your school years pass, I see more and more how differently you approach education and learn at your own pace.
You make your own choices. It doesn’t matter what your brother or sister or friends are doing. You make your own choices and stick to them. You have strong opinions on everything, like your hair, clothes, shoes, and activities. You don’t back down without a struggle.
You are a caretaker. You make your brother’s lunch and help him get ready. You are the first to volunteer to assist with cleaning or sit on the kitchen counter to help me cook. You beg for a baby sister and promise you’ll care entirely for it. For Christmas, you asked for a therapy cat, and instead, we fostered kittens for you to nurture.
