It's the third child. The one that at 1:57pm looked you right in the eye and said "I do not like you, Mama!" after you refused to read him his favorite book for the fourth time. And then, at 2:03pm, takes his chubby little hands, reaches up and squeezes your cheeks together and says "Mama, I love you too, too much!"
It's the third child. The one that you lift into your bed every night like clockwork at 3:30am. You say you're willing to break all of those "no kids in the parents bed" rules you had with the first two kids because you will do anything to sleep through the night. But really, you sleep a little better when you hear his soft snores beside you and feel his toes digging into your side.
It's the third child. The one that gets everyone's hand-me-downs. But when you pull out a pair of his brothers pj's from last year and he sees them, he starts squealing "I love love love Cannon's jammies!"
It's the third child. The one that is fiercely independent. So independent that when he finally asks you to rock him or lay with him, you will. Every time.
Yeah... I'm not having a fourth. But I am amazingly thankful I had my third.