My eldest child was two weeks old when I first read her a book. I can’t say I think she appreciated it much. I didn’t even choose a simple picture book. Instead I read her The Wind in the Willows in one sitting. She fell asleep.

At four months I took her to her first baby gym class where I paid extortionate amounts of money for her to sit near some soft play toys and then listen to some adults sing nursery rhymes.

At six months we started our weekly swimming lessons, where I swam her around the pool pretending she was the one kicking her legs.

And so it went. I had nothing but time, and no one else to look after but her.

Then my boy arrived. He loved to sleep a lot (I know – amazing), and was happy enough to be wheeled around to whatever play date/soft play/toddler class I took my daughter to. He stole the show at her ballet classes and was happy to watch and giggle while she and her friends ran literal rings around him at the park.

Then number three arrived.

She was ten months old when I first took her to a baby class. A single baby class. She has never seen a swimming pool. The only exercise she gets is navigating the assault course that is our living room after the kids have emptied their toy cupboards for the 15th time since breakfast.

As my littlest one turns one this month, I feel nauseous when I look back on what little attention I’ve given her. One baby class and a handful of picture books. In a year.

But while we parents of multiple children might be prone to stabbing guilt that we have somehow failed our youngest – take a second look.

My littlest one may not have as much one-on-one attention as my eldest did at her age, but she has the attention of her parents and two siblings and a house full of noise and entertainment. She is charming and smiley - she rugby tackles her brother and giggles uproariously at her sister and is babbling away communicating with them all day. She was saying a version of ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ by nine months old and there isn’t a toy in the house that she hasn’t got her mits on. She is so desperate to keep up with them, she speed-crawls after them as they run from one end of the house to the other, and in recent weeks has learnt to walk pushing a chair to keep up.

We are so hard on ourselves, parents. But it’s important to remember that we are not alone. They say it takes a village to raise a child. The other children in the house are some of the most important villagers.