My Child's Birthday

Today is the anniversary of my middle child's birth.  I was a middle child.  I often joke about the way that shaped me.  Sometimes it's not much of a joke.  Sometimes I am half amused, half offended when people react with a knowing look, or a understanding nod of the head, as if discovering that I am a middle child explains it all.  

So, I wonder today about life for my middle child.  What are the ways in which she is the middle ground among my children?  Is she the middle ground among my children? or has she found a different way of defining her role? Birth order theories are often adjusted when you factor in adoptive and biological children, when you factor in normally-abled children and special needs children.  

How are we shaped?  There are so many factors. Yes, I was a middle child, but I was also a minister's child.  My middle child also survived her parents' divorce. 

I grew up with Howdy Doody then American Bandstand and the Beatles, worried about polio, went to college during Vietnam and Kent State, and at 21 got married the week after I graduated from college, the year Nixon was elected President.  My middle child grew up with Sesame Street, then New Kids on the Block, worried about AIDs, started college as President Clinton faced charges that led to impeachment hearings, and lived on her own for three years before getting married. 

I love all of my children and am proud of each in different ways.  I used to joke that as the mother of five daughters I wanted to raised them to be strong independent young women and my curse is that I succeeded.  But in truth I am incredibly proud of their independent spirits and of their strengths. I think there's something primal about a mother seeing her child become a mother, that inescapable sense of repetition through the ages, the passing of genes and habits, of attitudes and priorities.  I sit in wonder as I watch my children grow as adults, as parents, as humans.  Pride is the word I am tempted to use, but it is the wrong word, for so much of what they have become now is their own making, not mine.  I think the better word is joy.  I take joy in my children and that is the greatest gift I could receive. So on this anniversary of the joy of giving birth, I celebrate the joys my children give me.