Someone watching closely might have noticed that the hair dryer was pointed toward her blond curls at most half the time.
But at seven o’clock at night on the floor outside the bathroom, no one was around but my middle child’s siblings, and for once they were uncharacteristically quiet, the eldest immersed in a book and the boy concentrating on getting every bit of shampoo out of his hair. If I’d tried a decade ago to blow-dry my little bookworm’s hair she’d still be shrieking today. I assumed that every child shared her fear of screaming hot wind; consequently with the younger ones I left the dryer under the sink and used only towels.
Until recently that is, when I unearthed that noisy gadget (my own hair outrageously revolts unless allowed to dry in its natural state) and turned it on the middle child’s fine blond hair one frigid night when I worried that otherwise she’d freeze. I anticipated revolt; instead she could not stop giggling as the air tickled her neck. “Don’t stop, Mommy!” she yelled. “The wind is making me laugh!” I’ve continued to make her laugh since then, gently detangling the hair as she wiggles and squirms. I point the dryer off at an angle, willing it to dry slowly. It’s not often that I get to see that child alone. It’s even less often that she’s still, so I brush and dry and linger for as long as she’ll let the wind make her laugh.
Unfortunately, I’m not certain there’s any amount of post-shower hair care — no matter how hilarious — that can make up for all the times this child, sandwiched between a pair of high-maintenance siblings, has had her needs deferred because her mother was needed somewhere else.
I love the story so much and want to say something relevant and meaningful but all that comes to mind is; these are the good times you hear so much about… make notes and recall them to your kids when they are grown and telling you that they hate you, because you did XYZ in an some misguided attempt to be a “Good” father, and that you are a terrible father and that you have absolutely ruined their life… Oh wait that is from my life… sooorry… never mind.
One only gets too much attention, two never understand to share. Three seems like someone’s always left out… there is no right number of children to have and no way to give each and all their due attention. Sadly.
All I can say to my three as they each one by one come to me to complain still about how I always put one of the other two first is that I gave to the one that needed me most. That wasn’t always the loudest, nor the one in the most distress. Sometimes it was about a quiet cuddle with the one who always understood that her elder sister and younger brother needed me. She’s the one I miss the most. She’s the one who moved away and she’s the most self sufficient of the three.
She’s the one I want to curl up in a chair with just one more time to read that book we never did get to finish together.
She’s also the one I worry about the least. Adults though they all might be with beautiful babies of their own now.