The Finale of Four

I have blogged about this before on my pastor's wife's blog, Holly, but it warrants my own post being that I fell victim to the fourth child syndrome. There is no proof of my existence until a grade school photo. Every child in my family has a handed down family name from my father's side-except for me. You know who I was named after? NOBODY. I don't have a middle name because apparently by kid four, the imagination "has left the building". When your the fourth child, you divinely become the "Queen of the hand-me-downs". New things weren't necessary, especially that my sisters are 2 and 5 years from me. That would have just been wasteful. My father wrote a beautiful letter to my sister in her baby book that she will have to cherish forever. Do you really think I have a baby book? NOPE. And anyone that knows me has heard me say these things a million times. Do I really harbor bad feelings over it? No, but I will bust chops until my dying day about it. Here are some of the perks.....Being the "baby", if I call anyone one of them, they jump. If I need something or someone, "Johnny on the spot". Who's the clown of the bunch-me. I can be, because they carry all of the stress for me, because I am the "baby". I think they called me that until I became a mother at 24. On this past Sunday morning when I spent the night at my sisters, my mother made me breakfast, and my sister ironed my shirt. You know...the baby...it works to my advantage at times I must say. Now that I am a mother, let me share with you the differences between my 2, and let me know if you see history repeating itself. When my daughter started to eat food, I made everything that passed her lips myself, homemade and pureed with care. As soon as my son had 4 teeth we hit the drive through for a happy meal. Once a week (or more) I filled up my bathtub with bleach water and cleaned every single one of my daughters toys. If a toy looks dirty now, I rub it on my shirt, and move on. My daughters baby book looks like an accordion that won't even close, and I just saw my sons under my bed last night...or was it in the closet? I have all of my daughters teeth-I have time not to mess that up for him. I have everything from hospital shirts to her first mini golf ball to painted faces at the circus photos to locks of hair to portraits every 3 months for the first 2 years to her first tooth brush to BRONZED SHOES to dance outfits to several favorite outfits to 6 plus photo albums in the first 2 years....I better stop before you think I'm nuts but this list could go on and on. My boy...I have a modest bin of memories. I have one portrait because the little booger won't sit still for 2 seconds, I couldn't imagine him making it through 20 minutes of the circus, I have all of my sons photos in a draw in no chronological order in hopes that they will get put in an album one day. What am I doing? Will my son have the same stigma that I have carried for 34 years that I KNOW that when my mother told my father she was pregnant again (there are 4 of us in a five year span to the month) he said; and I quote verbatim..."No Rosie, you must just have a cold". Is this what I am reducing my one and only son to? I am a disgrace.