We are the littlest ones, my dear, just you and me. You have an older brother and sister, and I have two siblings of each. They came first, and we followed as the final additions to our family. The youngest child possesses unique insights.
I understand what it’s like to be on the losing end of every game—board games, card games—year after year, because older siblings don’t grant you the same easy victories that grandparents or doting aunts might. When you finally win, you’ll feel a sense of pride, knowing that you earned that triumph through hard work and persistence.
I know the sting of being teased yet still yearning to join in with the big kids, because your universe revolves around them. I remember being the last one to sit on Mommy’s lap, and the final one to play with toys or believe in Santa Claus. It’s a strange marvel to recognize that those teasing older siblings safeguarded that Santa secret just for you.
Having an older sibling teach you how to ride a bike, coax you into jumping into the pool despite your fears, and help you discover your inner courage is a precious experience. I recall how teachers know you first by your family name, as you trail behind the family’s educational journey.
I know how it feels to be the caboose, effortlessly following the established rhythms of our family. I understand the duality of emotions when your mom introduces you to acquaintances as “my baby,” even when you’re well past the age for such a title; it’s a mix of affection and embarrassment.
You may desire to grow up faster, yet you’ll celebrate every birthday last. And one day, you will come to appreciate being the last to turn 30 or 40, forever the young one.
Now, you are the baby of our family—my baby—and I’m learning valuable lessons as a mother, knowing that you’re my last child. I must cherish those sweet baby cheeks, the adorable mispronunciations, and the endless questions, as they are fleeting moments.
Your arrival was a gift not just for your father and me, but also for your siblings who celebrated your birth with joy. I see how they love you, even when you feel overlooked or “too little” once again. They take your hand, read to you, and adjust their pace for you.
You are incredibly resilient, bravely striving to keep up with the older kids. While it’s tempting to spoil you with that adorable baby face, I also recognize your capabilities and that you don’t need as much babying as I might wish.
Whatever worries I might have about your milestones—thumb-sucking, potty training, learning to read, or riding a bike—I know it will all turn out fine. I can relax and simply enjoy you. I cherish having a child small enough to lift, one who fits perfectly in my embrace.
This won’t last forever. As I fold away your outgrown clothes, I realize there’s no one else to save them for. You will be the last to navigate all those milestones, from starting kindergarten to heading off to college. I understand that I will have to let you go, and I hope I’ll be ready for it. But know this: You will always be my baby.
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Summary:
The youngest child in a family experiences a unique journey, filled with lessons learned from older siblings and the bittersweet nature of growing up. As a mother to the last child in the family, the author reflects on the importance of cherishing every moment while also preparing to let go as the child grows.