There are seven of us in our family. Two have a birthday in January, two in February, one in July, one in September and Anna in December.
Today I was almost crucified for pointing out that Anna's birthday was the last birthday of the year.
'My birthday is second in the family!' she stated. 'Léon, then me!'
Not being aware of her school-based year system at that point, I stuck to my guns: 'No Anna, you are last. First there's Charlotte, then Amaia, then me, then daddy, then Marcel, the Léon and finally you. January is the first month, December is the twelfth.'
Hair flying like Miss Piggy, tears exiting her eyes almost horizontally, she stormed up the path shouting 'Why couldn't you wait till I was old enough to cope before you told me such awful news, mummy?!'
Oh boy - when that one gets hormones...