Growing up with two older siblings and two younger siblings, my house has never been quiet.

Being a middle child has some perks. For one, you get automatic best friends for life. I get two mature influences (except when a certain older brother decides to whip out his Nerf guns), but I still get to be childish with my younger siblings.

I love how my older siblings can bail me out of trouble. There is also the option of blaming stuff on my little brother—he probably actually did it anyways.

However, being the middle child isn’t all fun and games. To be honest it’s stressful.

It’s likely that your older siblings are total brainiacs, and you are seriously trying, but you end up with a single B on your report card. Looks like you’ve won the “Why can’t you get good grades like your older sister” speech. Then, of course, you get the complementary “You are setting a bad example for your younger siblings” lecture. With middle children, it’s double the trouble.

But, hey, other than the constant struggle to keep up with your extremely talented older siblings, and the accompanying lectures, you basically are off the hook with your parents.

They get to politely ignore you while they coo over their precious babies and congratulate your older siblings for getting into Ivy League schools.

It’s okay, the parental neglect is a good weapon to have when you need Dad to buy you a new laptop for Christmas.