Mine.

Almost every Thursday, a group of mommy friends gets together for a playdate so that the kiddos can play with each other and get their energy out while we moms get our energy back. Max and I attended this week's playdate at the Scottsdale Quarter's splash pad, an area of shallow "splash" water with scattered fountains that spew up every few minutes. It is literally the perfect place to take the wee ones as the temperatures crawl to a makeup-melting 104 degrees.
Before all the splashing fun commenced, we spread out our blankets and unpacked our increasingly stocked diaper bags. Toys, sippy cups, and snacks adorned our area like sprinkles on a cupcake (I am hungry). Now, I'm no parenting expert, but I'd venture to take an educated guess Google that the concept of "sharing" is totally lost on a 10 month old. How can they possibly yet know that taking an object straight out of a peer's hands and adopting it as their own plaything is socially frowned upon? That being said, after observing Max's interactions with the other sweet poopsies at the splash pad, I can tell you that this "sharing" thing is going to be a doozy. As Max swats away his own, brand new sippy cup in an attempt to maniacally crawl toward his unsuspecting friend to snatch THAT KID'S sippy, I can only wonder what is going through my son's head:

"Oh good, my sippy cup has arrived. Amazon is so swift. Thanks for delivering this to me."
"Let me show you what that looks like in my hands. You'll love it."
"If you're trying to win my affections, it worked. Hand it over."
"I will take this and I will call it my squishy and it shall be my squishy."
"I'm just gonna check if that water is mineralized."
"You found my sippy! Man, if my head wasn't attached to my body..."
"Funny story.... I'm about to take that from you. Hmm. Guess it's not that funny after all."

Which leads me to our next first: Max's first tantrum! Sound the trumpets.

Max saved his very first tantrum to be witnessed by dozens at our neighborhood library's singalong. It, too, was sparked by the taking of another baby's sippy cup. As he slowly drew the spout up to his mouth, I unclenched his fingers from the handle and pulled it out of his possession. And as I did so, I heard the ominous rumblings that can only be rivaled by the built up pressure of magma in a volcano. You know what's coming.

He wailed and wailed, engaging in the most textbook of tantrum behaviors: flailing his body backward and turning into dead weight. As I stifled a giggle deep into the pit of my stomach, I knew this one had to be documented as a real first. God bless the singalong teacher for sailing right into a rousing rendition of Where is Thumbkin.

I love you, my little stinkpot.