Parenting: The Rule of Threes and My Pursuit Against Birth Order Failure

There are numerous tropes associated with family size and birth order. I have fought hard against the stereotypes when it comes to the configuration of children. There will be pros and cons for however many age splits, whatever the gender, order, and so forth. 

But gosh, three kids. In my last column, I wrote about my decision to have three. I’ll never regret it, and I have never once regretted it. But I feel like I’m constantly fighting the stereotypes and rarely winning. 

Each of my children is wonderfully different from the others. My oldest daughter is determined, focused, and a leader. Witty, fiercely loyal. Next is my son, who is an old soul but with a zest for life, fun, silliness, and has the sharpest emotional attunement I’ve ever encountered. My youngest is unshakeable, unapologetically herself, and has a sense of humor sharpened by sarcasm and observation. 

I wish I could parent each of them in a way that is tuned to their exact frequency, and I certainly try. But it’s lacking. And sometimes I feel like it inevitably flattens them into an archetypal birth order. The oldest one: the default parent. The middle one: the sweet, lovable outlier. The youngest one: the one who gets away with murder. 

I hate the idea of birth order, and I certainly don’t ascribe to it as being true. But I do feel like at the core of it, my oldest takes on more responsibility, my middle one struggles to find his place, and my youngest has had us bending the knee since she was born. 

One of the benefits of seeing this is that I can adjust my parenting somewhat to at least counteract these archetypes.

Yes, I’d like to be able to tailor my parenting like writing code – uniquely scripted to each child in the most bespoke possible way. A lot of what I do is spray and pray – a blanket approach that acts as a general catchall. Nothing wrong with that. 

But at the very least, I try to shake free the idea that each child has a predestined role in this family to which they must adhere. 

That means reminding my eldest that she’s still a child – she doesn’t have to be responsible for her brother and sister all the time. It means giving my middle child real responsibilities and ensuring he understands the significance of his role as both a younger and older brother. That’s a pretty cool spot to hold. And my youngest? We’re working on more manners, fewer demands, and a little more patience. She’s still only six – watch this space. 

It’s so hard to fight against these tropes because they naturally fall into them. After all, my oldest craves responsibility and feels the urge to take charge. My son is obviously going to have a hard time finding his place being the only boy with two girls as bookends, and sometimes that leads to being a little bit of everything all at once. And we absolutely adore the “baby” and can’t help but cater to her. 

I know my role. And the first step is self-awareness as a parent. They didn’t choose their birth order, but I get to choose how I see them, speak to them, and share the way they see themselves. And if I do it right, they won’t grow up as “the oldest,” “the middle,” and “the youngest” but simply as themselves.