I've been assured by some rather optimistic middle-child friends that it really is the best of all worlds. The oldest paves the way in terms of parental rule-making. The youngest snags all of the neurotic, empty-nester attachment issues. Meanwhile the middle is left to collect love from every direction, avoid blame by hiding behind the eldest, and still have the youngest to teach and lead around.
And at least in our family, I expect there will be some overcompensating for her position in the often maligned middle.
We spend our mornings relegating chores and errands to the last possible minute of the last possible day, freeing up the rest of our time for puzzles, cocoa, and adventures in the doll house. Now that her sister is a reader, Elle likes to bring me books and make up stories for me. She even occasionally asks for help with a (made up) word she stumbles over.
As always, she is this sprightly, energetic, hilarious little person: the perfect middle child. She would never be still or quiet or passive long enough to be overlooked, no matter how busy our house gets.
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