How to tell you married the right person

Mother's Day should be a big deal in our house. After all, TheBoy has two mommies. Double the maternal instincts, double the pressure. Or not.

Yesterday morning, as TheBoy toddled into our bed and woke me up with his stinky dragon breath and a few well-placed elbows to the kidney/bladder/other especially sensitive parts, I realized with a panic that I hadn't yet made him sign the Mother's Day card I got for Judybat. So I hustled him out of bed, got out the markers, and quickly set him to work scribbling his version of a signature all over the card.

I'm a bad spouse, right? Judybat spent 30 hours in labor, and I can't even get the fruit of her womb to sign a freaking $2.50 card until Mother's Day morning?

TheBoy did his best, and I shuffled him off to present his work to JB. Who promptly hustled TheBoy off to his crafts table, grabbed some markers and put him to work . . . signing the card she'd gotten for me.

Then we let him take us out to brunch. He's getting frighteningly good at using my credit card.