Growing up as the oldest of three I always assumed that being the firstborn was the most enviable position of all. You did everything first, received everything new, and there wasn't much that could shake you from that arrogance that you were the first and the best after all.
But now that I have three little ones of my own, and as I watch them grow and develop and interact with each other, I can't help but think that really the one who has it best is the youngest.
Our youngest is almost two years old, and has both a big brother and a big sister to emulate. Despite his rapidly growing size, and the even faster approach of his second birthday which will officially mark the end of his babyhood, he is our baby and will probably remain so until another one arrives to displace him (my husband is shaking his head as he reads this over my shoulder, as much as I am nodding mine). Or he could possibly always be the youngest.
So he is drowned with love and attention. Our older children were, too, but our youngest just has it from more people and for longer. Once our older children passed their second birthdays they had another - younger - sibling to contend with.
When you are two years old and have older siblings you get to do and try so many exciting things.
It really is quite cool when your older brother teaches you the dance moves to Gangnam Style before you have even mastered the actions to, say, The Wheels on the Bus. And even cooler is to be able to sing along to Lady Gaga better than you can recite Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.
At just 18 months old you know how to say certain words (such as gun, stupid and a range of others) perfectly, because you have heard your older brother and his friends say them in front of you since the day you were born.