Three kids is the new two, right? And so now the fourth-born is the “extra” one, who lacks love and attention and tags along as the prime three enjoy the limelight.
In fact, I think my fourth-born has a pretty sweet life. He’s doted on by his three older siblings of course. But also, he has a mom who is better able to enjoy the toddler years because they pass, and who doesn’t measure herself based on the whims of a toddler. Baking with a two-year-old used to be a mandatory part of baby montessori homeschool expectations that I held myself to. I judged myself a failure if my kids were reluctant or made a mess.
My fourth-born and I bake together only when we feel like it, expecting a little mess. He sprints to the kitchen to get in on the baking action. He loves how stirring and pouring feel, and he is willing to help clean up his spills. He sneaks handfuls of batter when I turn the corner for a second. And he is so cute with batter and melted chocolate on his face.
All in a good morning’s work: