I’m a Middle Child. I would tell you what that’s like, except nobody would notice I was even talking. Just joking!

While I sit snugly between two sisters, I don’t have Middle Child Syndrome. I mean, they say Middle Children tend to be attention-seeking and people-pleasing, and I am a former stand-up comedian and radio host, but I see no correlation. Ahem.

What I do have, though, are two clever, funny, kind, loving sisters, who give me a place in this world. They have always been my context, my parentheses, the shoulders to stand between in family photos. Because of them, I have memories of building cubby houses and playing with Barbies and sneaking to the milk bar to buy lollies and making ourselves sick eating them before we got home or else Mum would know! (Of course she always knew.)

Without the Older and Younger, this Middle would have spent every minute except mealtimes in her room reading. Which is where I often find my daughter, beautiful Willow, light of my life and Only Child – a label that carries even more weight than Middle.

It’s a complicated thing, raising an Only Child. First, for many – and for us – they’re an Only, because the Second Child you yearned for just didn’t happen. While deep gratitude infuses every second we spend with our cherished, miracle Only, it comes with a distant sadness. I so wanted her to feel the love of a sibling, and she has so much love to give. Turns out gratitude and grief can co-exist.

Second, according to the parenting experts, if I don’t do this right, I’ll likely raise a person who is lonely, spoilt and a social disaster. So I try to encourage a social life, which she courageously pushes herself into, even though I know for her the rough and tumble of child’s play – both mental and physical – can be a mystery. And I fill our house with animals, to bring life into a place that otherwise can feel painfully still and quiet. She might not have siblings, but she has a dog and cat and miracle goldfish who will not die despite utter neglect.

But I often, frequently, probably almost always, do what the books tell you not to do. She’s totally overindulged because – without siblings to split my time, attention and budget – I have no reason to say no to, well, anything.

And I’m supposed to set boundaries, but we spend All. The. Time. Together. She does everything the adults do, but without the alcohol. She’s a bit of a handbrake to romance, but honestly she’s delightful company. She’s like Betty White, without the irony.

It’s not normal though. The natural order of things is kids v adults in a fight over good and abject laziness, with a bit of sibling jostling in the mix. She and I shouldn’t be best friends. We should be opposing teams in a Friendly Match between rivals. I mean, who is she sneaking to the milk bar for lollies with?