I used to worry that three was a terrible number of kids to have. I have some scars from being one of three “best friends” growing up. That never worked out well. To me, three means there is always someone left out.
That said, you can be sure I wasn’t having four kids. Three nearly did me in. So, I braced myself for the inevitable fights and hurt feelings that the odd number may bring.
To my pleasant surprise, three has worked out quite nicely for our family. There are alliances all around. The two youngest bond over boy stuff. They build Lego worlds and watch Star Wars and quote stupid shows from Cartoon Network that never fail to crack them up.
The two oldest bond over being school age. They read similar books and have common friends. Also, they’re “older” so they sometimes need time away from “babies”.
The oldest and youngest bond because they both have way out there imaginations. They play mommy and baby or puppy and owner. She tells him what to do and he’s still young enough to do it. Also, they both are obsessed with television and laying around so when they are allowed they both jump on the chance to snuggle, while they’re brother would rather play. Perhaps they bond because they just need some space from him.
The best part is that the one who isn’t involved never seems to mind. The timing of the friendships seems to work for everyone.
Whatever the reasons, they all pair up nicely and play together well as the three musketeers too. It’s been fun to watch this summer as they rely less on me for entertainment and more on each other.
They are lucky, these Three Kings. No matter where they turn, they are in good company.
Maybe three isn’t so bad after all.
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