He got to stay up three hours later then his younger sisters. For three hours there was no need to wrestle for his father's attention or share his bag of peanuts with anyone. For three hours he was the only child at a baseball game with his dad.

"It kind of rocks to be the oldest child, doesn't it Mama?" Jay said as I tucked him into bed minutes before midnight.

"Yes. We have that in common. We are both the oldest." I admitted.

"Sometimes the middle child is too loud."

"Uh-huh."

"And the baby always acts like a baby."

"Yes."

"I really like being the oldest child, Mama."

"What's it like being the oldest child?" I asked.

He curled into his pillow and cradled his beloved stuffed animals before he answered. A swarm of adjectives filled my mind based on my own experience as the oldest child; but, his answer broke my train of thought. I was not prepared. The last word I would use to describe life as an oldest child was the first word out of his mouth.

"Peaceful."

"Peaceful?"

"Yes, Mama. It's so peaceful being me."

I never want to forget the night that I tucked my first born child into bed after he proclaimed that his life was "peaceful". It beats the "My Child is on the Honor Roll" bumper sticker any day.