When you're the youngest child, I think you have to stake your claim, get what's yours. Actually maybe you have to do that if you're anything but the oldest. The oldest is doing everything that's new and (in the case of our children) fancies themselves the center of the universe that is the family.
As a toddler, Mark would grab my chin and direct my face his way if I wasn't giving him his due attention. He refused to be babysat by the TV, despite my best efforts, while I was trying to homeschool. He is uniquely equipped to not ever be neglected just because of his place as the youngest.
He lost a tooth the other day--which made me think, really? How many more of those guys are you going to lose? I'm not up on the process.
I don't know how reliable the tooth fairy is in your neighborhood but around here, I don't think there's ever been a time when the tooth fairy has successfully come the first night a tooth is left under a pillow. She's a complete slacker. (Those families with cute little pillows where you tuck the tooth in a pocket? They put ours to shame.)
Friday night we got home late from opening night of the musical. Mark had been at the school with me for nearly five hours. He'd gamely been pressed into service carrying things and fetching things and he acting as doorman. He sat by me and hooted and hollered for his brother onstage. After the show he tapped Braeden's friends on the shoulder, regardless of other conversations they were having, and gave them a high five and congratulated them on their performances.
(I don't what to do about Mark; I can't get him to come out of his shell.)
While I was putting away things in the kitchen, Mark pulled a ziploc bag out of a drawer and then produced his tooth that had come out a few days earlier. "I'm putting my tooth on the table," he said in a hint, hint sort of way, "To make it easier on the tooth fairy."
He didn't say, "Because the tooth fairy is lame." (Which was kind of him.)