My brother, Duncan, was a better parent than I was. Even though he had no children of his own, he knew exactly what I was doing wrong, and he always had some advice (or judgement) to pass along.
Duncan once said to me, "Who is in charge, you or the three year old?!". He thought I was kidding when I said "The three year old". He started into his holier than thou, boring old rant. You know the one. It begins with "When I have children of my own...".
I nod my head, suppress my smile, and look like I give a damn about the Parenting for Dummies by Duncan lecture. I keep telling myself, "My day will come, my day will come".
And it did.
My brother had a baby girl of his own.
The baby is tiny, and beautiful, and healthy, and perfect. Duncan is in love.
And I'm happy.
Because in three more years, I am going to say to my little brother "Who is in charge, you or the three year old?!". And he will want to punch me, and I will laugh and laugh and laugh!