Little Little Brother

“So the other day my son, David — I mean….Davis….”

– actual words that came out of my mouth

Being a third child is a struggle.

Being little little brother is definitely a struggle.

We had a BABY vs. WILD themed birthday party last month to celebrate one full year of his surviving the suburban wild.

It wasn’t until the day after his birthday that we realized he never opened his birthday present. His one, single birthday present.

David sometimes gets lost in the shuffle. Even at his own birthday.

It’s not that we don’t love him. No. We adore that child.

The problem is that he’s our favorite toy.

He basically spent his first year being the most sought-after play thing in our home.

And, you know, toys just let you play with them. Sometimes you even misplace them because they’re so quiet and unassuming.

The one major difference between a normal toy and a baby toy, however, is that normal toys can be fixed and repainted and superglued.

Babies, as it turns out, cannot.

Well, I guess they can be painted.

But you get my point.

And when you are the object of your two-and-five-year-old brothers’ affection, things can get dicey.

Being little little brother means personal space is at a premium.

And by “premium”…

…I mean “not-at-all-ium”.

Being little little brother also means that you are held a lot.

….mostly against your will.

Some people refer to this as “harassment” or “unlawful imprisonment”.

I refer to it as “big love”.

Sometimes love hurts.

It’s just part of life. You learn to deal.

Right, little little brother?

Right.

Being little little brother also means you have one set of parents and one set of…uh…”helpers”.

Sometimes they’re helpful.

But not always.

They’re all about lending a hand.

Or “changing your diaper”.

(It mostly ends up with you naked as the day you were born which is not at all helpful. But they try.)

Sometimes they shove entire Matchbox cars in your mouth, with only the little shiny fender showing.

Other times the toddler unsuccessfully breastfeeds you.

They refuse to let little little brother go hungry.

Being little little brother means you don’t nap in your crib very often.

You end up squeezing naps in on the go.

In the car, for example.

Or walking into Chick-fil-A.

Or at the aquarium.

Or in the public pool surrounded by 800 of your closest friends.

You know, anywhere that’s nice and quiet and crib-like. Anywhere like that does just fine when you’re the little little brother.

It’s a hard job you have.

There are some upsides and some downsides.

Some wins and some broken clavicles.

Some “taking one for the team”.

But if we were to vote on the best part of it all, it’s that

Being little little brother means you have two big big brothers who love you wholeheartedly.

You have built-in best friends. #1 fans. Fierce protectors.

Brothers who love you because “he’s just so cute, mom. I think he’s my best buddy.”

Same, dude. SAME.

We sure do love you, little little brother.

Thanks for letting us poke and squeeze and sit and stand and costume and karate chop and squish and feed and bite you.

We do it all with the best of intentions.