Another blogger recently put the question out there, shortly after birthing her third adorable little one.
Will her middle child ever be the same? Will she smile again? Will she be happy? Will she love her little brother or be absolutely jealous and hateful toward him?
I have to say I can totally understand where she’s coming from. Our Middle Man hasn’t been the same since Little Man was born.
And we miss that sweet little soul oh-so-much.
But I don’t think he’s coming back. Every once in a while (EVERY WAKING MOMENT OF EVERY DAY) I check out on the back porch to see if he’s out there, sitting by the back door, waiting to come home.
Sometimes I look in his room. In the closet. Even inside the toy box.
That adorable, sweet little boy is gone.
The boy who has replaced him was dropped off by Gremlins the night Little Man was cut from my enormous belly.
If you’ve ever read The Stolen Child, that’s my story.
My kid is gonners, man. Stolen in the dead of night by some sort of evil creatures who replaced him with some sort of devil boy. A boy who is LOUD. A boy who FIGHTS WITH EVERYONE at home and NOBODY OUTSIDE THE HOUSE (thankfully). A boy who shakes and grits his teeth and SCREAMS! and KICKS! and holds his breath till he turns blue.
It’s been three years now. Middle Man is so sweet sometimes. But more often than not he’s a Gremlin.
There are many nights I go to bed and cry. Night after night there is screaming and fighting and constant battles over everything from dinner to homework to what to wear to what not to wear to what television show to watch or which side of the freakin’ couch to sit on.
They are fighting as I type this about that very thing. WHICH SIDE OF THE COUCH TO SIT ON.
His brother is 3.
They fight. They kick. They love each other and HATE each other at the same time.
So yeah. I know what it’s like to be mommy to three kids. That middle one is special. I say it all the time. He’s my pain in the ass and my sweet babe all the same.
He drives me nuts and drives me to tears.
He makes me so happy and then a second later I’m TEARING OUT MY HAIR.
Right now, after fighting about the couch, he’s asking me if I’m proud of him for his 23-out-of-23 on his spelling test and asking if he can “chat” with Dad and if he can update his blog.
He’s a doll.
Just wait a minute.
He’ll be Gremlin again very soon.
I always tell him he is in a very special spot in our house of the Other Jackson 5. He’s the Middle Man. He gets to be something NEITHER of his brothers will ever be.
He’s a little brother AND a big brother.
That’s different and so special and downright freakin’ awesome.
Sometimes he listens and thinks that’s so cool.
Other times he screams, rolls his eyes, spins on his heel and stomps away.
That’s my kid.
And I wouldn’t change (most of) him for the world.