Last night, while I was feeding the boys dinner, Boone forcibly ejected the spoonful of food I’d just given him. All over me. It was like puréed carrot bukkake.

Even as a new parent, I knew things like this would happen. I’ve seen a greeting card or two in my day. You know, the ones with the precocious lad covered in spaghetti on the front. What you can assume is that there’s a mother or father just off camera, similarly covered in noodles and ragu, weeping openly or, perhaps, drinking openly. Or both.