I need to express the minor injustice that I have experienced of late. I get a lot of positive feedback regarding my son who turned 2 yesterday. Mostly I hear that he’s “an angel,” “a saint,” followed by “you don’t know how lucky you are.” Guess what? I do. I’m no dummy, as Diego would say. But when he pushes someone off of a slide at tot shabbat, I’m there to make things right. Doesn’t it stand to reason that I should be allowed a pat on the back for some of the good stuff, too?

He doesn’t exist in a vaccuum and he’s made up of half of my genes. I’m the one who feeds him peanut butter out of the jar now and cleverly placed the exersaucer behind the loveseat so he couldn’t watch The Golden Girls as an infant. These are crucial, delicate decisions and I nailed them. I’ll end my self-praise there. Just know that I share a small part of Diego’s successes along with his not-so-successes.