I have always said that who is my youngest child is a complete unknown, you know scientifically and all.
Ok, one of the boys happened to be born first, but it's not really conclusive in terms of conception and all.
But then at 18 months something happened.
Squeaks never did the "terrible two's", she never had tantrums.
If you ever saw her face down on the supermarket floor it was because she wanted a rest.
Admittedly at four she more than makes up for it in hissy fits as she tests boundaries.
And then there is my "officially" youngest child.
Who at 18 months caught me completely off guard as he began tantrums.
And now, at nearly three, we have a frequent imposter in our lives.
Because I know full well it's the most thoughtful, well intended, motivated addition to my son's "look".
And that it is a way of my son expressing himself.
For his parents, and those around him, to know understand his feelings.
And yet, of course, it is everything I can do to keep a straight face.
Because, to his mummy, he looks completely adorable.
Because, for a moment, I believe he's my youngest child.
And that this is how I would behave.
Then, as I cover my laughter, I remember the times when it's not so much fun.
And someone decides they will walk no more.
Because mummy has insisted on holding their hand.
Or their brother has overtaken them when they were leading.
Or because their sister has picked up the stone they really wanted.
And that we can't really go any further until the lip is forgotten and life can resume.
In fairness, there is humour on both sides.
As I encourage my child to let me know what he thinks as he is allowing his bottom lip to protrude.
So his tongue pokes out at me.
And I am a proud mummy...