My sister is three years older than me. My brother is three years younger. I am 'the middle child' in every conventional way.
My sister had the really great clothes. I think my grandmother made most of them for her. She was the first grandchild. In many ways, she was spoiled rotten and always the center of attention. She was truly a physical version of 'hope' and 'expectation.' It could not have been easy. She was going to be great - whether she liked it or not.

My brother had all the autonomy. He could do no wrong. And, he was a boy as well as the baby. He was spoiled in a very different way. He was excused, he was cajoled and he was catered to because he was different (male) and allowances were made for him that were never made for either me or my sister. He was always believed, never doubted or suspected.

I . . . am the middle child. I clung to one of my siblings most of the time. Usually, which ever would tolerate me. I wasn't as remarkable as the oldest and I wasn't as unique as the youngest. I shared each of their respective spotlights with them and likely much to their chagrin at the time. I was autonomous and learned to hide in plain sight - right out in the open where nobody was looking.

We were, for all intents and purposes, entirely regular kids from a middle class neighborhood in the Midwest. We fit the mold of 'suburbanites' perfectly. We went to school and to church. My Dad went to work where he taught elementary school and my Mom stayed home, where she watched soap operas, gossiped with neighbors and attempted to cook dinners.