B gets most of the airtime right now for obvious reasons. But there are two other remarkable people in this house who deserve their own moment. This post is about siblings in a family of five.
Mr: the boy they said wouldn’t
Mr is two years and five months old. He has Down syndrome. When I was pregnant with him, people told me – in various ways, with varying degrees of tact – that he would not do much. That development would be slow, limited, uncertain. I held those words and I chose not to believe them, and I am so glad I didn’t.
He took his first independent steps one week before B arrived, at two years and three months. He is now walking freely everywhere – around the house, up and down the stairs to go outside, around the room during our little dance evenings where he just totters in circles with an expression of pure concentrated joy. He does not stop. He has somewhere to be and he is going there.
Since B arrived and our childminder started coming three mornings a week – officially through the municipality, which has been a genuine lifeline – his development has been nothing short of remarkable. The combination of a new person giving him dedicated attention, my partner taking him to his therapy sessions in the city, and the general stimulation of a busier household has created a kind of momentum I was not fully prepared for.
Potty training is progressing. The childminder started it and we continue as consistently as we can manage. He is not yet fully aware, but something is getting through – almost every day there is something in the potty, and today three times. We put him on before meals, before going outside, as part of the rhythm of the day. Progress is real.
He is dressing himself more and more. Take one arm out of a sleeve and he pulls the shirt off over his head himself. He pulls shirts on the same way. Zips and fastenings he removes immediately and with visible satisfaction, so anything that needs to stay on must go over the head. Trousers he pulls on independently – often Ms’s trousers, which are bigger and apparently easier to manage. Socks and shoes are coming. Hats go on and come off on his own schedule, which is not always the same as mine.
We are working on eating with a spoon and fork. I bought him a silicone bib which has made mealtimes significantly less chaotic. We hold the utensil together, hand over hand, and he gets a few good spoonfuls before either losing interest or gripping it so tightly nothing useful happens. Then we take over. But there is progress, and progress is everything.
The one physical challenge that remains – for me, specifically, right now – is that Mr has a talent for making himself completely heavy when he does not want to do something. Ask him to stand up for dressing, and he becomes liquid, sinking to the floor with total commitment. I am still not supposed to lift anything heavy during recovery, and lifting a thirteen-kilogram determination-not-to-cooperate is absolutely in that category. This is the main reason the childminder has been so essential. Next week is her last official day, and then I have my medical check. I am very much hoping to be cleared for normal lifting, because the logistics of getting Mr dressed while he is performing his best impression of a puddle are considerable.
He is also the warmest person. Joyful, sociable, affectionate, an excellent mimic. When B arrived he went through about a month of hitting – jealousy, adjustment, the only language he had for something confusing and big. That phase has passed. Now he just comes over and hugs. I watch him and I think: look at you. Look at everything you are doing that nobody thought you would.
Ms: the one who has always just known
Ms is four years old and she has been helpful since before she had the words or the motor skills to be particularly effective at it. When Mr was a baby and she was two, she brought nappies without being asked, told me when something was in his mouth, tidied up quickly and without fuss. She has always had a sense of what needs doing and an instinct to do it.
Now she is four and that instinct is sharper. She is gentle with B from the moment she wakes up. When I am nursing, she pulls Mr into her games so I have a window of peace. She tidies quickly. She helps without being asked, or usually with just one ask. She notices things.
Academically she is ahead of where most four-year-olds are. She writes names and words from sound alone, does simple arithmetic, draws well, has a memory that surprises me regularly, and is working her way toward reading. Some of this is just who she is. Some of it is curiosity that we have tried to feed rather than redirect.
But – and I say this with complete love – Ms is also hard work in ways that Mr simply is not. She is strong-willed and demanding and persistent in the way that highly capable children often are. She knows what she wants, she pushes for it, and she does not give up easily. The emotional and social parts of development are lagging behind the intellectual ones, which is not unusual but does mean that living with her requires a particular kind of patience on the harder days. We are working on it together, the three of us – my partner, the childminder when she is here, and me. She has been like this since she was very small. It is who she is, and part of parenting her is learning to work with that nature rather than against it.
She is not in nursery for the summer, and people sometimes ask whether that is difficult. Honestly, I do not have the energy for the power struggle that a forced early routine would create. She wants to sleep later and wake later and spend her days outside with the neighbourhood children and move freely. And I need her here, engaged, helping in the small ways that add up to a great deal. So we are both getting something we need, and the summer is working.
Three is different from two
I want to say something that surprised me: three children is easier than two in certain specific ways. With just the boys – when it was me, Mr, and B – there was no buffer. Mr wanted to climb on me whenever B was nursing, and there was no one to redirect him. Now Ms is here and she pulls him into play naturally, without being asked, and I get stretches of time that simply did not exist before.
The division of attention is still something I think about. B is nursing constantly and is physically with me most of the time – we sleep together, we are rarely apart. Ms and Mr have drifted more toward my partner in the day-to-day, and he takes them everywhere – outside, to his parents’ farm to see the animals, to the shop, on drives. It works, and it is partly just practical necessity. But I try to make sure I am present for all three, that no one feels the distance.
The neighbours helped last week in a way that meant a lot – they took Ms and Mr to the zoo and out for a meal. The children had been getting restless indoors, and getting everyone outside when I cannot lift Mr onto his balance bike is still complicated. That kind of spontaneous, practical help is the thing I wish there were more of. A former classmate sent a package with physiological saline ampoules, a nasal aspirator, wet wipes – small things, exactly right, chosen by someone who thought about what we actually needed. That is the kind of support that stays with you.
We are also very grateful to the municipality, which covers Mr’s transport to the city for his therapy sessions and contributes to the childminder costs. Without that we would simply not be able to manage the schedule he needs. When the official childminder arrangement ends next week, I will be on my own in the mornings. I have done one full solo day already and it went well. Once I am fully recovered and can lift freely again, it will be easier still.
What I keep thinking about
We live in the countryside and the quiet is genuinely restorative. A walk outside recharges something in me within seconds. I am grateful for that every time I step out the door.
I am grateful for these three children every single day – each one completely different, each one asking something different of me, each one giving something back that I could not have predicted. Mr, who was supposed to do so little and is doing so much. Ms, who is fierce and brilliant and more help than she knows. And B, still small, still mostly milk and sleep and warmth, who has somehow made all of us a little softer toward each other.
A family of five. Loud, complicated, imperfect, full of love. I would not change a single one of them.
You are not alone.
If this story resonated with you and you’d like to go deeper, you can explore my e-book Our Journey – A Different Path. It offers honest reflections and lived experience beyond this post.
If you’re looking for practical support, I’ve created Routine Templates to help parents and children navigate daily life with more clarity, structure, and understanding.
You can also read my previous posts or follow along on Instagram @parentguidancehub, where I share everyday reflections on parenting, family life, and finding balance.
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