pride goeth…

I have a shameful confession to make.

It’s a cliché that every parent thinks their child is the center of the universe. “A face only a mother could love.” “Mother’s little angel.” That sort of thing. And I suppose that’s right, as far as it goes. But there’s something else going on with me. I’m not sure if it’s a male-brain thing — competitiveness, possessiveness, all that — or just a my-brain thing, but I can’t shake the conviction that Grip _really is_ the best baby ever. Like, objectively speaking. Like, if I had a different baby, I would love it, but it would still be inferior to Grip. I have that whole subjective “my baby” thing, but I’ve also got a place-’em-on-a-scale, “my baby vs. your baby” thing. I know, on some intellectual level, that it’s extremely unlikely he is actually the best baby ever, or that there can even be such a thing. There are lots of babies, and I’ve only seen a tiny number of them. I know that my assessment is deeply, inescapably biased. I know all babies are precious. I know all babies are the most wonderful in the world for their parents. I know all babies are special in their own way.

Yes, yes, I know all that. But still. _Look_ at him! He’s not just cute, he’s _cuter_! He’s not just big, he’s _bigger_! He’s not just calm and even-tempered, he is so Buddha-esque he makes _your_ stupid baby look like a big… _baby_!

Oh my god, I’m a bad person and I’m going to hell.