unless you're from boston...

THERE'S NO "R" IN BENJAMIN'S NAME! It's Ben-JA-min, not Ben-JER-min. This is the last you'll hear from me tonight, but today someone asked me if he was pottytrained yet and whether or not he walks. He just turned seven months old! Give the kid some slack! Yesterday, the lady who called him BenJERmin said, in a baby voice, "I need a bib, Mom" because he was drooling. Instead of being a man about it and saying it directly, she said it from Ben's perspective, which both Ben and I found insulting. Later, Ben reassured me that in fact he did not need a bib. The same day, in the parking lot of Target after Ben had just finished ripping his sunglasses from his face, a lady said, "Where's his sunglasses?" Listen, lady, I tried, but he ripped them from his face. He was wearing sunscreen though, with citronella in it to battle the bugs. Doesn't that count for anything? And, you, the guy in Vons who told me to "take good care of him": back off, buddy; he's in good hands. Do I have a sign on my back that says WANTED: UNSOLICITED ADVICE?! When Ryan pushes the baby anywhere in the stroller, people think he is amazing because he is having something, anything to do with his son. But me, I forget the bib, and everyone notices. What's wrong with this world?