The beautiful chaos of having a third child
After the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s baby news, Anna Tyzack explains why so many parents ask: to three or not to three?
With Prince George off to school and Princess Charlotte nearly out of nappies, there was light at the end of the tunnel for the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. They could have given away the Millson Prince pram (or saved it for Auntie Pip), bid goodbye to sleepless nights, and embraced a civilised future with their neat and tidy two-point-four girl-boy family.
But no, the Cambridges have opted instead for chaos. Yesterday, the Royal Household announced that the Duchess was expecting baby number three, and is, as with her previous two pregnancies, experiencing severe morning sickness, also known as hyperemesis gravidarum.
As bewildering as a third baby might
seem to parents of pairs or onlies, particularly when you already have “one of each”, the news is hardly surprising. Not just because Kate herself is one of three – and hinted that she and William would “just have to have more babies” when handed a newborn toy on their recent tour of Poland – but because so many of her generation are opting to roll the dice for a third.
Historically, big families have been the preserve of the very rich and the very poor, but three is fast becoming a middle-class norm. “To three or not to three” is the question bandying around the country, far beyond Wills and Kate’s friendship circle – recent figures suggest a small but steady baby boom for mothers in their early and mid-thirties, with families bigger than they have been for a decade, despite the intrinsic costs.
For me, the decision to have a third child was easy – as one of a neat boy-girl duo, I always craved the chaos and companionship of a larger family. With two boys already, I spent my third pregnancy being asked if I was hoping for a girl – an irritation that Kate will thankfully be spared. I honestly didn’t care what I had, I just wanted three and when a third boy duly arrived, earlier this year, the jigsaw was at last complete.
Some say the jump from two children to three is the most profound but I don’t think Kate should be concerning herself about that. Surely zero to one is the ultimate challenge? There can be no denying, however, that we had to make some major changes to our lifestyle. Kate will have no problem fitting three car seats in her Range Rover but we had to buy a bigger car – a Volvo, naturally – and a larger house, with space for a live-in nanny.
I invested in a Bugaboo Donkey, a beast of a buggy that can transport all three children at once, in various configurations. Our holiday options dissolved – do you know how expensive family-friendly resorts are? – along with invitations from friends who couldn’t handle an invasion of three small, stickyfingered males.
Still, none of this affected the family mood. Research suggests that larger families tend to be more pleased with their lot than those with one, two or no children and I can see why. As Kate will, no doubt, discover, life is much more fun once perfection is simply no longer an option.
Sometimes, I look at a new mother in a café, having a peaceful moment with her newborn, and feel guilty that Horatio, my number three, didn’t enjoy many of those with me. His needs were always eclipsed by those of his elder siblings; we didn’t go on shopping trips to buy babygros and swaddles – he wore faded hand-me-downs – and we never darkened the door of mummy-baby yoga classes. As a result, he is a pack animal, used to muddling along with whatever everyone else is doing but he is all the more gorgeous for it.
And while he gets less of me, he’s arguably had the best of me – as a third-timer, I was much more relaxed as a new mum. I didn’t fret about sleep routines – or indeed any routine – and I let him sleep in our bed until he deigned to stay in his cot. I left off the horrific-tasting quinoa and kale purées and fed him what he liked. Shock horror, he still has a dummy at night because I forgot to wean him off it when he was small.
My husband, the second of three brothers, refuses – conveniently – to believe that Middle Child Syndrome exists but this was one of my major concerns about having a third child. What affect would it have on Alfie, who was just 22 months when Horatio arrived and was already tantruming hard? A week before I gave birth, he was lying prone on the gravel outside Battersea Park Children’s Zoo, punching his little fists into the ground, and I wondered how either of us would cope.
It wasn’t always elegant but we managed. If anything, the arrival of Horatio and the responsibility it brought with it drew the older two closer. When Alfie’s tantrums vanished on his third birthday, I stopped blaming them on MCS and realised that they were just part of being a toddler. Rather than feeling miffed by the new arrival, both Hector, four, and Alfie are endearingly protective of their younger brother, as I’m sure George and Charlotte will be of their little sibling.
“Mummy, stop him!” Hector will yell as Horatio careers off in a different direction in the supermarket. “Lego! Lego! Don’t let him swallow it!” they shout, as he enters the playroom. They’re also hugely proud of him, introducing him to strangers on the bus and attempting to push his buggy. I’m looking forward to the time when Horatio is old enough to play their games – when two fall out, which will inevitably happen, there will always be someone else to turn to. In royal circles, one can only imagine that the solidarity will be even more pronounced – lengthy state occasions, church services and tours can only be more fun in a gang.
There are times when I’m alone with the two oldest and I see how much more straightforward life would be with two. As Kate will discover, two hands are just not enough when it comes to crossing a road with three little ones. But then I see them all capering about together and, selfishly, feel grateful that I have more of them, more school plays to watch, more birthday parties. And when things are tough and they’re crying or scrapping over a toy, I console myself with the fact that at least there will be three of them to look after me when I’m older.
A word of warning to the Duchess, though. Your third is likely to be your loudest. A high-pitched shriek to make yourself heard is what comes of being ignored in a bouncy chair from day one, while the others are demanding attention. After two children, though, you have undoubtedly already mastered the art of selective hearing.
‘Lengthy state occasions can only be more fun in a group’