Don't call me Your Highness...Sandi will do

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Empress Sandi the Reticent of Heffton St Mallet Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

I don't think I'm all that peculiar. I think that like all little girls, I was born to want to have a title. Did my family treat me like royalty, thus placing me in a position to demand respect or an obligatory curtsy? Absolutely not. My family treated me like the middle child. I was whining "Marcia Marcia Marcia" long before Jan Brady had received the "go away kid, you're bothering me" treatment. Although, to be literal I suppose I would have been whining "Holly Holly Holly". It just seems that parents get so excited when they are preparing the "nest" for the arrival of the first born. There is that shiver of anticipation, who will it look like, who will it be like, who will it like best? And so it's precious little bed is prepared with silks and handmade blankies and feathered with sweet little teddy bears and long earred bunnies. The days pass in a blur of showers and compliments on the glowing on the expectant Mama. The drop in guests are more frequent now, whispering to each other "my heavens, she's as big as the side of a house...when do you suppose the baby will get here?" Like the baby has been anywhere other than right in the room all along. And then WHAM, here it is. The young prince or princess is finally out and about in the world, family and friends oohing an aahing and cuddling and talking baby talk (which is actually a good thing, I hear) and just creating a royal pain in the arse for the future children. Because, you know there's going to be more. And how lucky that Bundle of Joy part deux is a girl, we have all these girl clothes and Princess 1 hides the prettiest of the dresses because they are "mine mine mine". Things go along smoothly with the second little Princess because they know what they are doing now. Any newness (or admit it, mistakes) have already made their appearance or reared their ugly heads. So there is less of what we'll call frantic enthusiasm for baby 2. It's a sort of "been there done that" ease of parenting. Then several years later comes along baby 3 and it's been awhile and the other two are big girls now, and this is a baby. And so begins the middle child syndrome. Uh huh, you guessed it. I'm a middle child. And so finally I get a title and although it may seem a bit peculiar to you, hey, it's better than nothing and curtsying is optional.