And since that moment, I know you’ve lived under your sister’s shadow, the one who always gives in, the one who quietly fades back under the bossy big sister, the one who slips into the background when drama takes over the dinner table yet again.
But, to my middle child, I want you to know: I see you, I really do.
I see the way there is strength in your silence, the way you never miss anything, the way your sensitivity makes you able to read every facial expression I have, every bad mood I am faced with. I see the way you hover near us, seeking that attention I know you are desperate for.
I see you, my middle child, even when it seems like I don’t.
I see the way you long to hold the peace in the family, the way you soothe your little sister when she’s hurt, the way you act as the go-between amongst the squabbling that is a constant in our home.
I see the way you retreat when the world becomes too much, the middle child who needs her own world of solace to survive.
I see the way you you hold your chin up high in defiance, how you’ve learned that there is no shame in “shy,” the way your voice rises higher when you have something to say, because when you have something to say, you have something to say.
And I absolutely love that about you.
We laugh and call you our little cat because of the way you seem to silently sneak up on us, somehow always ending up curled up next to one of us, a constant need for physical touch, your way of connecting even when it seems like you get lost in the shuffle.
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