“You’re just exaggerating like always!” Celine shouts over my excessively loud tears. “You have no idea what it’s like, none of you do!” I scream back in between sobs. It went back and forth, each of us repeating the same points we always make when this “civilized discussion” comes to be. Every time its the same, and every time she wins. But I’m the one who gets hurt in the end.
I’ve heard it before, being a middle child is like the cream in an Oreo, but really it isn’t. We get the “best of both worlds,” to be an older and younger sibling. But those people are just plain wrong. You say that there’s no difference between being an oldest or youngest or middle child, but there is.
It all started 8 years ago when baby Isabelle was born. I was a bright, young energetic preschooler when my father came early to pick me up.The car went so slow. Driving to Boston seemed to take hours in afternoon traffic. Once the car was parked, I struggled with the buckle on my car seat until it finally popped loose.
Pulling my father and older sister by the arms; I ran as fast as my 5 year old legs would carry me. Only to be crushed the sights I saw. As I took one step after another into the overpowering scent of antibacterials, I was ignored for the first time in my life. My parents were no longer looking at me, but they were looking at her. Screaming, crying, little Isabelle.
She was their shining star, their prized possession. “No, Annelise, don’t touch the baby!” “Don’t be selfish, she needs more attention than you do,”. Suddenly, I wasn’t the baby of the house anymore, and that definitely did not settle well with me. I realized if I wanted attention, I had to get it myself.  
Once Isabelle was older the attention switched. It switched to my older sister Celine. One day, I bit her. No, I didn’t just bite her, I sunk my seven year old baby teeth into Celine’s back and then watched it bleed. She ran off screaming and crying, while my parents stormed in; yelling just as loud. I stood there smirking, only to dart up to my bedroom in tears when they came close.
Furthermore, I always have annoying sisters hovering over me. Nothing is truly mine. Half my clothing is hand me downs, and the other half I am required to share with Isabelle. Everytime I find a hobby I like, or a sport I’m good at, one of the HAS to try it, too. But when I want to try one of their sports or hobbies I am never allowed too.
All this is bad, but it’s just really annoying when everyone tries to act like it isn’t happening. They sugar coat things and ignore it when I confront them; saying things like “We didn’t know you felt this way,” “We promise we won’t do it again,” or “You’re just exaggerating,”.
I just want people to understand how I feel. I’m not complaining about my life, I love my family, but no one ever gets it. Every middle child feels like this on some level, yet no one ever listens to and of us. Now picture an irrelevant, invisible, ignored little thing. Well we’re here, middle children will always be here. Maybe things will change for us, or maybe I’m just exaggerating.