They say you just know when it’s your last baby. And they’re right.

There’s something different about the way you soak in the little things—sticky cheeks, sleepy snuggles, the way they mispronounce “pajamas.” When you know they’re your last, everything feels softer. Slower. Sweeter.

Our youngest, at two and a half, is the final piece of our family puzzle. He has an older sister to admire and an older brother to chase, but somehow, he’s managed to carve out a place all his own—equal parts baby, shadow, and star of the show.

He’s our Bluey-obsessed, giggle-powered, dirt-covered, snack-demanding little whirlwind.

And he’s mine. Oh, is he mine.

People say he looks just like me, and I don’t even pretend to hide how much I love that. In a family of hand-me-downs and shared toys, it feels special to have something all to myself—a face that mirrors mine, a bond that is uniquely ours.

He is the definition of a mama’s boy. If I leave the room, he notices. If I sit down, he climbs into my lap. If I laugh too loudly with someone else, he’s instantly on a mission to join in—or reclaim my attention entirely. He tugs at my heart with sticky fingers and sleepy cuddles, and I am unapologetically wrapped around his tiny little finger.

He adores his big siblings. He copies everything they do—from yelling “TA-DAAA!” or “I DO IT!” after jumping off the couch, to asking for whatever snack they just had (even if he already said no to it five minutes ago). He’s their biggest fan, their tiniest follower, and sometimes… their loudest protestor.

Being the youngest means he’s learned how to hold his own. He’s scrappy, clever, and suspiciously good at getting what he wants. He’s watched his siblings negotiate and debate long enough to know when to throw on the charm—and when to throw himself on the floor.

But he’s also the baby. He knows it. We know it. And I won’t lie—I lean into it more than I thought I would. Maybe it’s because he’s our last, or maybe it’s just because he’s him. But bedtime is slower. Hugs last longer. And every milestone feels like a quiet little goodbye to a season I’m not quite ready to leave.

This boy has completed us in the most unexpected, perfect way.

So here’s to the babies of the family. The mama’s boys. The Bluey lovers. The ones who still smell like oatmeal and bubble bath, who teach us to slow down, laugh louder, and hold on a little tighter.

He may be the smallest, but he sure has the biggest piece of my heart.

For real life.