I have to concede that I only painted half a picture of my rotund little wonder boy. You see he may be stroppy, but in between screaming bouts he is the jolliest baby any mummy could ask for. His gummy grin has enough megawatts to light up the room and there is nothing that doesn't capture his ever vigilant imagination.
Dangle a toy in front of his huge, dark chocolate brown eyes and they will follow it like a cat hunting down a mouse. He will raise his chubby fingers ready to grab it with a delicious gargled giggle bubbling from this throat.
Blow a raspberry on the smooth olive curve of his belly, feeling the silken skin sink deliciously under your lips and you will be rewarded with a peal of baby laughter that fills you with joy. Watch his pink marshmallow thighs pump and wriggle as mirth takes over his whole body and you know he aches to jump up and play. Stroke the soft curve of his cheek and wonder at the perfect bow of his lip, the pudgy snub of a nose and the delicate peach fuzz of black hair that covers his skull like a fine velvet. I simply marvel at the sheer perfection I have managed to create.
From the moment he pushed his way out (alright he was cut out, but you get the picture) he was intent on being first in the queue for parental attention. I always think he filled out his mummy application form all wrong. Instead of ticking the box asking to be the child of conscientious first time parents, his attention was momentarily distracted and instead he mistakenly checked 'Twins to harassed parents of four'.
Poor boy. He is never happier than when he is held aloft in my arms, the better able to survey his kingdom. His problem is really that there are just not enough hours in the day to pay him the attention he so richly deserves. If I were able to devote the hours to him that I did to son number one, I suspect he would share the same smug contentment as my firstborn. As it is he is constantly having to upbraid me for my neglect and remind me of my maternal duties.
Is it any wonder that he screams so much when I have the temerity to do housework, look after my other children and perhaps even do a stroke of work, when of course I should devote myself wholeheartedly to his care?
But where twin two may calm and soothe my nerves, jangled by his brothers incessant cries for attention, twin one adds glitter to my life like the sparkling fizz of champagne bubbles with his energy and joie de vivre.
If only he could work out that his delightful charm would wend a much faster path to my heart than his screaming complaints. One smile and I melt, a giggle and I am a puddle of love for him. So in answer to my husband's question. 'Yes, I love him, more than life itself, just like all of his brothers'.