Three is the magic number

The latest must-have status symbol for affluent parents is, apparently, a fourth child. If I'm honest, three seemed sensible to me.
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Apparently four children is the new ideal for affluent parents. So says Sarah Vine in today's Times:

"There is a new must-have status symbol. Not a car, not a certain type of house, not a super-sleek yacht, but something much more fundamental - and so much more significant: a child. Specifically, a fourth child."

I'm neither posh nor Catholic so I often wonder how I ended up with four children.

If I'm honest, three seemed sensible to me - less conventional than two but you could still own a car that looked like a car and squeeze happily into a family room on overnight stays. We'd even neatly side-stepped middle-child syndrome by having twins to start, so we had two oldest children destined to be striving, eager to please, over-achievers and a easy-going, doted-on baby of the family who'd grown up sufficiently to mean we no longer required full-time childcare, could happily consider long haul travel again and could set off without crates of baby equipment. Yes, things were under control.

And yet my husband wasn't sated. Now whether he hankered after a fourth because he was up with the zeitgeist and knew this was the latest must-have accessory or whether he was just lulled into a sense of omnipotence by an easy third child only he will know. All I remember is the unremitting whisper in my ear "Just one more, why not, let's have a gang." Eventually I allowed myself to think just for a moment that it might not be a terrible idea, which of course was all it took.

And what happened? Chaos.

Our new baby was the most demanding we'd had - strangely unhappy to be plonked on a bean bag, he required our attention almost all the time. Suddenly every minor family hiccup - illness, a row at school, a leaking roof became a crisis. Our "never a worry" youngest was thrust from a starring role as baby of the family into middle-child obscurity, our car was too small, our house is too small and we will never be able to afford to stay in a hotel altogether ever again. On top of that the thought of reading the papers at weekends is laughable and the grandparents look nervous and exhausted if we even float the idea of having a night away. And who can blame them - it wasn't as though they signed up to this many grandchildren.

And while I contemplate the prospect of four of everything for a very long time: parent's evenings, night terrors, ear infections, veruccas, nits (I could go on), "let's-have-a-gang-Dad" swans off to the office basking in the reflected glory of his "must-have status symbol" of a fourth child. Now I know it will all be fine and dandy when I'm sitting round the Christmas table in my 90s surrounded by my dynasty, and Jesse, if you're reading this, please don't for a second imagine I love you any less, but, just for now, three does seem like a magic number.

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