New Baby is settling in at home. We’ve begun calling him New Baby because after two years we still are in the habit of referring to Buster as the baby. Until we come to terms with Buster’s boyhood, he is Old Baby and his little brother is New Baby.
It still seems surreal that Buster could have a little brother.
My wife worries that Buster will develop Middle Child Syndrome. For that reason, she always wanted to have four children. Now that she has to deal with the reality of three boys, she has switched gears. She’s leaning less toward birthing another child and more toward viewing a little psychotherapy for her middle child as a solid investment.
I’m not worried about the man in the middle. Buster already has Buster Syndrome. Maybe that other syndrome is just the antidote he needs. He could use a little soul-searching to slow him down and temper some of those ragged edges.
The ravages of Buster Syndrome.
So far, Buster has adapted admirably to his new position. He shows only tenderness to New Baby, channeling all of his aggressive tendencies toward his big brother. Needless to say, his big brother is fine with this. It leads to no fighting, whining, or tattle telling at all.
Whether Buster’s treatment of New Baby stems from pure kindness or the fact that he sees the writing on the wall is uncertain. New Baby is a beefcake. Buster is a little squirt. Unless he conjures up a growth spurt, Buster will be a big brother in name only within a few years. He is wise to plan for that day.
Until then, New Baby has sharp claws for self-defense. I don’t know what part of evolution demands that babies be born with long fingernails. He can’t hold his head up or make his limbs bend to his will, yet New Baby has razor talons. This somehow makes sense to Nature. In theory, his claws could be used to protect himself, if a predator caught his spastic hand and scraped his fingernails against itself. Otherwise, they only protect him from having a smooth face. Nature likes self-inflicted scratches I guess.
“Feel the wrath of my pinky claw!”
New Baby doesn’t have to wield his bird of prey claws against Buster, even if he could control them. Buster is committed to being a good big brother. As to being the middle child, I think Buster will have no problem carving out a comfortable space for himself. He will defend his things from the grabby hands of his little brother with vigor equal to that he used snatching them from the hands of this big brother. His zeal will be an example to all.
I don’t worry about any of the boys adjusting to their new roles. The one I worry about is the cat. He flirted with neurosis dodging only two boys. Now he faces a trio of hazards even as his reflexes decline. If anyone qualifies to blame their troubles on a situational syndrome it’s him.
There is no place in this house for you to find solitude, Mr. Cat. It’s kind of like being a parent.
Snoozing on the Sofa 
Every time I think about having a third child, one of my biggest “cons” is making Buddy the middle child. I can’t bear the thought of doing that to him. YOur wife has a solid plan in theory though…four sounds good to me!
It all sounds good in theory. Then the sleep deprivation sets in.
There’s something to the middle child who needs a good defense against Baby Jr. coming down the growth shoot. My best friend actually had to teach her middle child (a willowy wisp in comparison to Little Bruiser) that it was ok to wallop the baby when she started her pummeling routine. The middle child was getting the stuffing knocked out of her.
I don’t think Buster will have that problem. I’ve just got to teach him to stay out of the clinch and keep himself at arm’s length. He’s quick and and he’s got a good right cross, but he’s toast if that baby ever gets him in a bear hug.
This is big decision time. Three boys means transportation can be done in a variety of cars, adding a fourth puts the whole family into a van. That type of thing can scar kids more than any of their birth position issues. I still think twins is the way to go.
Already scarring the kids with the minivan, so maybe they won’t even have the luxury of developing birth order issues.
Fortunately for me, the wife and I never got around to both of us wanting three or more kids at any specific time.
There has been moments where I considered having more than two, but then I would just have another glass of wine and let the moment pass.
In those insane moments when the wife wanted a third one, because, let’s face it, those moments are the dangerous ones, I would remind her of the age difference and would then proceed in my practised motivation of having four. Can’t have a third child growing up on their own, can you? It worked every time.
But honestly, I think we both would have liked another one, third time lucky. Then we might have been able to use all the lessons we learned on the first two and then we might be able to execute this parenting thing perfectly.
Hey, it’s still not too late. You’re only 40. I didn’t have my first kid until I was 41. Don’t you want to have one more go at perfection? Well, don’t you?
Ah,the cat. Our cat was already 12 when Gage was born and she managed to avoid him altogether by hiding behind the baby gates. She died in February and Gage has been telling me that he ‘needs’ a new cat. Need is an oft used used word in his vocabulary and it makes me laugh almost every time. I had to break the news that Daddy doesn’t like cats so any needs should be made directly to him 🙂
Don’t worry. He’ll forget all about cats soon enough – when he starts demanding a dog.