It's the sad truth. Look through any family photo album and you'll find a bazillion pictures of the first born child. Their first haircut, first lost tooth, first Christmas or first time pooping in the potty chair. But with each child born, the amount of photos begin to dwindle. Until that last child almost becomes invisible. It's not our fault, they say repetition stifles imagination.
So, being the next to the youngest in my family of 15. I grew up in the shadows of my brothers and sisters. It's like my entire life was an afterthought. At family gatherings, the conversations would always center around tales of—do you remember that time—like I was suppose to know what went on fifeteen years before I was born.
I wore clothes that were not mine but leftovers from some one elses lifetime. When I looked through the family photo albums all I saw were faces of children I never knew. Even my parents were worn down shells of those frolicking thirty somethings I saw in those pictures.

from isn't that too cute
 to eh been there and done that—
first born versus last