Researchers have tested the effects of birth order on plenty of conditions, including OCD, schizophrenia, depression, autism, and even anorexia.
The middle child falls somewhere in-between and is unable to be the favorite of either parent.ĭespite these beliefs in middle child syndrome, the science surrounding birth order is still being explored. Favoritism may exist for the oldest child who is viewed as special, or for the youngest child who is viewed as the baby. Middle children generally don’t feel that they are the favorite child of the family. As they find themselves in the middle of everything, they may also become the peacemaker. They might compete for attention between siblings, as they risk being ignored by one or the other. The middle child often feels the need to compete with both the younger and older sibling for parental attention.
The middle child isn’t given as much attention as either. The older sibling often holds more responsibilities, and the younger sibling is well taken care of by the parents. Middle children may have trouble feeling equal to their siblings in parental relationships. Their personality may be dulled down by their siblings, making them quiet and even-tempered. The older sibling is strong-willed, and the younger sibling is the baby, which leaves the middle child somewhere in-between. Middle children have personalities that are often overshadowed by their other siblings. “You’ll have to get your own.How might being a middle child influence someone’s personality and relationships? Below are some common ideas about the characteristics of middle children. “I’m afraid that type of chocolate isn’t available to you,” she says. “I thought I smelled pickling day,” he says.Ī weekend of televised football eases the middle one’s assimilation, but on Sunday night he eats some chocolate from the wrong category. “It presupposes a future when these pickles will be ready.” The youngest one walks in. “What is happening?” says the middle one.
“And I’ve numbered the jar lids so we eat them in order.” “Pickling day already?” he says, wrinkling his nose at the scent of boiling vinegar. The oldest one walks in while reading from his open laptop. “You can’t buy pickles like these,” I say. “Is there some kind of pickle shortage?” he says, watching me divide spices between half a dozen sterilised jars. We must act normal, I think, because we can’t do anything about our hair.įor that reason, I am sorry he had to arrive so close to pickling day. In the meantime, I worry about how we can present ourselves as a family that hasn’t gone insane in his absence. Over the course of the next week the middle one begins his slow reintegration under quarantine – adjusting to the time difference, changing his phone’s sim card, sticking swabs up his nose and leaving them out to be posted.
Through the window I see the middle one and his brothers at the kitchen table, laughing and using all the milk. The hour I spend in my office is difficult: like being confined to your bedroom to write thank you letters on Christmas morning, when all you want to do is play with your new toy before the cheap batteries it came with give out. “You’ll have noticed the new extractor fan,” I say. “And two more from the airport I have to take.” “He was early,” my wife says, from somewhere behind him. A small knot of worry that has been lurking in my chest all that time suddenly loosens. By the time I get inside, I find the middle one standing in the hallway, the light blocked by his tall frame – possibly even taller than when he left for the US a year ago. From across the garden I can see the dog running in excited circles through the kitchen.
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