When my brother proudly announced that his wife was pregnant with baby number five, my parents cheered like the whole family had been blessed. Dad smiled and said, “Great job, son,” but Mom’s eyes shifted straight to me. “You’ll handle the kids,”

hand over her stomach and smiled like a queen accepting praise. Their four children were racing through the hallway, shrieking over a broken toy, while I seemed to be the only person who heard the crash from the living room.

Then Mom looked at me.

“You’ll handle the kids,” she said.

Not asked. Declared.

I set down my fork. “Absolutely not.”

The room fell continue reading …