I don’t know if I make the disclaimer often enough that my complaints about my kids are generated from the 10% of the time they are (Colton is a) monsters. The 85% of the rest of the day, they’re wonderful, fun, happy boys. Of course, 40% of that 90% they’re sleeping. Or, I mean 50% of the original, so that’s really…whatever. Never mind. Math is hard. But still. There are demonic toddlers in the world. Colton is not one of those. He is scarily charming. My French mother says, “He is a seducer. Like Bill Clinton.” That’s a compliment for the French. And he’s easy to calm. Just pick him up and he’s happy. Now that I’ve confessed (absolved?) my guilt for his future therapy…let me complain some more. Over the past year, two metaphors craft my self-image: a lonely pioneer woman and a loser Judd Apatow protagonist. Wonderful, whiny Colton wants to be held all day long. I can’t and I won’t. Colton gets upset when he doesn’t get his way. #tearlesscrying ensues if …