I'm watching my four youngest boys and a couple of their friends run around the back yard playing tag. The oldest in the bunch is 12. The youngest is my baby, age 6. Ok, that's way to old to be called a baby. I know. That's just the curse of being the youngest.
Aside from being the youngest, he's small for his age. A whopping 30 pounds or so, that can still fit into size 4T clothes.
It's just not fair how the youngest one grows up so much faster than his siblings. He's exposed to so much more than his older brothers were as he spies in on them playing video games or overhears their jokes. While at age 6, I could sit an enjoy shows like Barney with my firstborn, he wouldn't think of watching it. Not because he doesn't like it, but because his big brothers make fun of Barney. He does what he observes the big kids doing. He tries to keep up and follow along...and really, he does a good job at it. I just wish he wasn't so good at it sometimes.