By Angel Kane
My husband and I have three children. Number 3 is our only boy – which means when he was a baby he wore a lot of pink. That’s because when you get to baby number 3, all you care about is keeping all three kids alive until your husband gets home.
Then it’s his turn!
Number 1 and Number 2 are girls and so I dressed them in pink everything – be it onesies, dresses, hats, gloves or bows. I especially did that with Number 1 and so, of course, had to continue the cuteness overload with Number 2 as well.
By the time Number 3 came along I was drowning in pink….plus I was really, really, really tired.
I’d figured out pretty quickly that onesies were just something babies slept in, ate in and pooped in. It didn’t matter what color they were. Same goes for hats and gloves. Their purpose was to keep the baby warm.
So when we were home and if I’m being honest, a few times when we went out, I dressed him in pink.
Problem is Number 1 and Number 3 looked almost identical as babies. So when your 14 year old son asks for baby pictures for his sports banquet, I struggle, first, to figure out if that’s him in that pink onesie or his sister. And then if he’s not in pink, he is naked, but for a diaper, in all the rest of the photos.
So goes the life of a third child.
Number 3 – the one that never gets to sit in the booth. Pull a chair up to the end, you’ll be fine.
Too many people in the car? Well, no worries, Number 3 can sit on someone’s lap. He’ll be ok, it’s just a short trip from here to Nashville.
Number 3 – the one that gets the cot at the hotel. The one who has never experienced a truly hot shower. The one that gets a cupcake and candle most birthdays.
The only one left at home most nights – he is now our water fetcher, our remote control finder, our mail go getter and our dog handler.
He is our everything.
Our girls say he is our favorite, which of course isn’t true.
What he is though, is that he is our last baby. Pink onesie and all.