The "Mid-Born" Syndrome

If you've had the misfortune of being born between the exact number of siblings on both ends, then you know your fate has been sealed in blood, destined to work a million times harder for the attention of your parents. The term coined for this peculiar situation is known as the "middle child syndrome." Frankly, I think it's a term invented by a bunch of pompous first and last borns, wholeheartedly committed to fulfill their life goal of making us "mid borns" miserable. In fact, I know it's hard to understand, so I've devised a mathematical formula that should put things into perspective:

Q (A+B*)^(F) + S = X L Where: Q = Mid born’s rate of growth per year A = Age difference from older sibling B = Age difference from younger sibling *Add siblings to this section of the formula as necessary F = Total number of family members S = Number of siblings L = Average Male Lifespan X = Caloric energy spent per nanosecond

In Layman’s terms, it’s a fuckload of energy spent.

If you’re a “middle child,” you’ll be forced to devise highly complex schemes to generate the attention you deserve such as, but not limited to:

- Snapping your collar bone on Christmas Eve (works best if it’s on the first run of the first day of a 7 day ski trip, for which you should adamantly request to snowboard despite your whole family’s discouragement of the idea)

- Arranging for multiple ankle sprains preferably Grade III (worst possible) on both ankles - the more sprains with fewer time in between, the better the results. *Note that wrist sprains don’t work as well. However, impaling your wrist to a fence will suffice. The fence must be as rusty as possible to generate comparable results to one Grade III ankle sprain.

- Smashing your face into the corner of a bookshelf and splitting your eyebrow. The wound needs to be just close enough to the eye to make your family think about how bad it could have been. Best if you’re in college when your parents are miles away and can do nothing about it to help. Additional attention generated if scheme carried out in the middle of the night to awake housemates with blood all over your face.

But these are all amateur schemes. In my case, I’ve devoted my entire life to a single scheme. I’ll add, that at this point, I’m not entirely sure why I’m even at it, considering all I’ve heard my whole life is that I was found under a cabbage, or abandoned by aliens on the doorstep of those who have forced me to call them my parents. But alas, I’m not here to discuss logistics. My scheme begins many many years ago, at the age of 7.

On a perfectly sunny day, I was waiting for the “Mrs. Mom” to stop whatever the hell she was doing in her office (usually playing PC solitaire) so that we could go home. This, was a process I was all together too familiar with, so I had my ways of keeping busy. Today’s agenda included, cutting rubber hoses, lighting leaf piles on fire, peeing on a wall, and the most important part: successfully failing to accomplish my two friends’ dare to climb a tree.

The plan, was to climb a tree shaped like a v, with a very sharp branch at the fork, that would slice off my family jewels after letting myself fall back on it. Spoilers… I missed my god damn testicles. Instead, I sliced open a gash about 3 inches wide x 3 inches deep, 3 inches away from my nuts. Though not ideal, I figured this will have to do - I would later come to find I had just missed my femoral artery, so kudos to me. I had my two friends drag me (not without the necessary “it’s too late, I wont make it, leave me behind”) to my mother’s office. When I arrived and explained the situation, “Mrs. Mom” took me to the bathroom. I was infuriated because she made me go in the girls bathroom to show her the wound… ugh, really? After all I’ve been through, you still won’t give me the attention I want, how I want it? Typical.

Fast forward more than 20 years later, all the way to a couple of days ago, I’m chatting with the “Mrs. Mom,” and at some point in the conversation she jokes “pumpkin noodle… if you wanted hugs from your parents, I’m sure there would have been easier ways to get us down there than to get your ball cut off…”

Shit. I think this lady's on to me.

DISCLAIMER

This is a joke.