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It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a last child in possession of a big family, must be in want of some individual attention from his mother.
Tobias suffers from last-child syndrome. A phrase I've coined just now to apply only and specifically to the matter of language development. It applies elsewhere (OK - everywhere!) no doubt, but I'm not inclined to shoulder a weighty guilt trip today.

I, like most first-time mothers, spent hours talking to Esme. We pointed at trees, pumpkins, dogs and bugs; this and that; and that and this on slow walks through the neighborhood. We pored over books and catalogues. We played with puzzles. We took sign language classes.
Esme's best friend sang "Frosty the Snowman," spoke in full sentences and knew over 100 words at 15 months. Esme definitely didn't sing and she wasn't any where close to sentences but she could speak. Some. And she knew as many signs as her pal had words.
Mama did her job.
Then came Desmond and Josephine.
Read the rest at Feast After Famine.
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