I won’t say that having more than one kid is easier—there are certainly difficulties with added numbers, but I am thankful for siblings. Last night we trekked across Texas to visit Lloyd’s family, and while the kids weren’t amazing, I spent less time picking up toys than when traveling with just one kid. Emma is a fantastic big sister. She picks up toys, reads stories, and generally tries to entertain III. Eventually, he did become inconsolable, and at that point she started shouting, “I don’t like the crying baby in the car!” But overall, having two made things a little better.

Some mornings Emma spends a while entertaining III, and she can make him laugh like no one else can. They are forming a bond that will probably be stronger than their bond with me. I can relate. I love my own brother like no one else. I may not remember my life before age 4, but I know he was there, entertaining me and bonding with me. I can remember our family car trips; we’d sleep on each other, play games together, and scheme together. Sure, there were fights through the years, and I insisted my favorite pizza was sausage just because his was pepperoni, and I didn’t want to be like him, but today I openly admit that pepperoni is my favorite, and it probably is because I secretly worshipped my brother. I wanted to be like him.

And I trusted him. I remember walking to school in the middle of winter with him and getting a bloody nose along the way. This happened pretty frequently, so I had a pocket full of Kleenex, and he helped me hold my nose and walked me all the way to my classroom. I remember conspiring with him to continue to pretend we believed in Santa so as not to disappoint our parents. And I remember him comforting me and playing with me when our parents were fighting in their bedroom.

So I’m thankful for siblings. It makes me wonder if more than two kids makes things any easier. I mean, two kids to entertain a baby might be twice as helpful, right? Don’t worry, I’m not entertaining any ideas of expanding any time soon, but I’m considering that the pay-off for playmates at a later age might be worth the stress of the screaming infant stage.

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