Scott and I were out to brunch and I spotted a baby who was around a year old. Not alone, mind you. He wasn’t enjoying Eggs Benedict and a mimosa at a corner table by himself. His parents were there with him, or at least two adults who looked parental enough; look, I don’t know their lives, I don’t know his life, for all I know he picked them up on the way in and was like, “I can’t go in by myself, it’ll look weird. You order the carrot-ginger soup and feed me spoonfuls when I say. WHEN I SAY.”

What I wanted to tell you is, this baby had his back was to me, and he had a perfect neck-back. You know that back of the neck area that babies have? With just the right amount of padding, maybe a little crease, you can tell it smells amazing? So obviously I was entranced. He was swiveling his head around to look up at the waitress, so in the moment, so pure, so goddamn stinking cute I wanted to pop his head off like a grape and eat it.

Because I was staring like a creep I also noted that both parents were on their phones. And then I had a knee-jerk second of silently tsk-ing them, as if I know what they had to endure to get out of the house, how many “Wheels on the Bus” it took just to get that lil’ shirt over their perfect baby’s noggin. Ridiculous! So then I sternly corrected myself and, self-chastened, said to Scott, “What if I went over there and super-earnestly was like, ‘Hey. Put down your phones. It goes so fast.’ How many punches do you think I’d get?”