Youngests aren't born, they're made

Little Janey.

All the stories are about your big brother. He'll always be the first to do everything. He'll always wave the flag for our attention. He is so Henry.

Sweet Jane.

Being a youngest, I can see another being made.

You are so content to take care of yourself.

Clean your bowl. Put your baby to bed. Dance around the kitchen. Give me those eyes.

There won't be another youngest in this family. I'd hate to do that to you. You will never know the trauma of having a new baby take your title.

Not that that trauma can't be a positive thing, in the end. I think it defines your big brother. More than an Oldest Child, he is a Former Only Child.

I like you as a youngest.

Still, you deserve to make a little noise every now and again. To remind us you're here.

You're even patient while I sit here and type this nonsense.

Daddy's said his piece. Let's run around the house screaming until Henry and Mummy come home.

Update: No dramatic irony here. Baby x was conceived about a week later.

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