What's in the Middle?

    In Oreos, it's the cream; in books, it's the story; in annoying keep away games, it's the monkey.  It's the part of your name that you don't want to tell anyone because "Erastus" was your great great grandfather's name that somehow got stuck in the middle of your otherwise perfectly lovely name.  In the average lifespan, it is the time of the dreaded mid-life crisis.  In sports, it's half-time; in plays, intermission.  In the family I grew up in, it's me.  In my children, it's Hyrum.  I had always planned to have four children mainly because I never wanted to have a middle child.  Then, along came Ryan.  After nearly two years, and maybe ten nights of unbroken sleep, as well as several tantrums that have caused people to ask me if my child has epilepsy, Dirk and I have decided our family is chaotically complete.  And this means Hyrum will get the distinct privilege (ahem) of being the middle child.  Sometimes people with more than three children try to tell me that they have a middle child.  A true middle child is a person with one older sibling and one younger sibling.  I am a true middle child, which is exactly why I never wanted to put any of my children in the same position.  I will expound. I had a wonderful childhood and the best parents anyone could ask for.  I can only imagine what being a middle child with crappy parents would be like.  My parents always encouraged me to pursue my dreams and interests and they were always there to support me in these sometimes crazy ventures.  It is because of them that my Middle Child Syndrome is as mild as it is. But it is still there.  It is a natural byproduct of being a middle child.
     When an author starts out to write a book, it is usually because they have a story to tell, not because they have a fabulous beginning and ending sentence.  The Once Upon a Time and Happily Ever After are integral parts, but the epic journey in the middle is why they write.  Families tend to be more about beginnings and endings.  When parents have their first baby, it is usually because they really want a baby.  Everything is new and exciting.  Every smile is photographed, every gurgle and coo is met with complete awe.  Every runny nose means a trip to the doctor.  Grandparents are called when the baby finally accomplishes the bowel movement they've been working on for five days.  When parents who desire a larger family have a second child, it is a natural continuation.  By the time number two rolls around, nothing is quite as impressive.  They've seen it all before.  Photographs are taken on holidays when the camera is remembered.  Gurgles and coos are nothing compared to the wise and wondrous musings of the genius older sibling.  Runny noses are wiped on sleeves and poops are further motivation to get the kid potty trained like their older sibling.  Then, along comes baby.  If the parents have set a three child limit, this is it.  Number three is the baby.  Every gurgle and coo is once again cherished because it is the last they will hear from any of their own children.  Not a moment or milestone is missed or undocumented.  Meanwhile, the oldest sibling is accomplishing new milestones on the other end.  The middle child can usually be found locked in his or her room pouring over Bernstein Bear books and thinking how nice it would be in a family of four (at least that's what I did).  When something goes awry in the home, it is most often pinned on the middle child.  The oldest child is far too responsible to have done such a thing, and the youngest could not have possibly figured out how to fit a hamster into the vcr.  The middle child is just young enough to have been that mischievous, and just old enough to have executed said mischief.  Once my brother actually tried to blame me for wetting his pants.  Thankfully my parents didn't buy that one, nor did they believe it when he later tried to blame it on our cat, Sam.  When my sister reached that special milestone of womanhood (which we are all excited about for exactly one day), she was taken out for a special mother daughter dinner and shopping trip.  When I reached that supposedly awesome but actually terrible stage of development, I was directed to the bathroom and told that Lindsey probably had some extra supplies I could use.  It was old news by then.  If me and my siblings were The Breakfast Club minus two members, my sister was the brain, my brother was the athlete and I was the basket case.  Sometimes acting crazy is the only way to get attention with a genius sister and a freakishly coordinated brother.  I also became the writer.  While my sister was off discovering the next penicillin and my brother was being recruited by every soccer team in town, I would write or act the lead in some dorky play.  
     My parents were in the front row at every one of those dorky plays.  I must reiterate, that I do not have a complex because of anything my parents purposely did or did not do.  Being in the middle is just hard.  I have gained these insights into middle childom partly as a victim and partly as a culprit.  As I looked back through some of my blog posts the other day, I realized that I had written a few posts each about my oldest incredibly smart daughter and my youngest remarkably coordinated baby, but only one about my warm, funny, helpful middle child.  Morgan gets a lot of my attention by default.  Between homework, reading, piano lessons and the 30 minute Success Maker computer program I am now supposed to help her with at home, I spend a lot of time with her each day.  We have celebration dinners for her multiple A report cards.  She is the princess of our family because she is the only girl.  Ryan is our baby.  We now cherish every little baby and toddlerism (save the epileptic tantrums) because we know we will never get to cherish them again.  And Hyrum sits and draws pictures of super heroes or builds with his blocks.  He is constantly showing me things he has made in an effort to keep up with his older sister.  Some days I can clearly see him competing for my attention, and yet I still feel helpless.  I try to spend one on one time with him whenever I can.  We play board games (I occasionally cheat to let him win) and we read together. Dirk and I take turns doing special individual dates with each of our children every month.  This month, I took Hyrum to  a special mother/'son Valentine dinner.  We have enrolled him in gymnastics, which he has really enjoyed, and he and Dirk sometimes do special "best buddy" things, like playing with tools or practicing golf swings in the front yard.  We try our best to make him feel like he is more than just the middle child; more than just a byproduct of our desire to have a larger family. And at least he'll never have the challenge of trying to compare with an older sibling of the same sex.  But I do worry that ten years from now, Morgan will be on the Dean's List and Ryan will be a star baseball player and Hyrum will still be struggling to find his niche.  I worry that he will feel inadequate and will act out for attention (wait- he already does that).  I worry that he will have these feelings and impulses because I understand just how naturally they occur.  If I still have a complex after being raised by such supportive parents, what chance does he have?
     My goal is to end the cycle of the Middle Child Syndrome with myself.  No, I am not planning on having another baby.  My only option is to try even harder to make Hyrum realize that he is very much a wanted and valued member of our family.  I will try to help him develop his own unique talents and interests and teach him to be proud of his siblings when they accomplish things too.  People can see that Morgan is a smarty-pants because she is more than happy to let the world know it.  And Ryan charms every person he flashes his gap-toothed grin at.  But Hyrum can be the strong, silent type.  There are so many facets of his personality that only I see.  A few weeks ago, he recited the entire poem, Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll, in a British accent, none the less.  He has also been able to build amazingly symmetrical and detailed structures out of blocks from the time he was a little older than Ry.  He has so much potential that few others ever see.  I wonder if he can see it.  I hope I can help him to.  I can't imagine our family without Hyrum's warm, helpful, sometimes grouchy, often side-splitting presence any more than I could imagine an Oreo without the cream.