Is it bad form to call your kid a smart@$$?

Alex is very into opposites lately. He's mastered a long list that he repeats with teeth-grinding frequency. Yesterday, just to see what he'd say (because seriously, half the fun of having these little people is poking around in their minds and being entertained by what you find in there ... unless that's somehow developmentally questionable, in which case, just kidding)...just to see what he'd say, I said, "What's the opposite of Alex?" He didn't miss a beat. "Mommy." I don't know if that's true, but I found it really funny. Then again, I'm easily amused. Ask Steven, who often looks surprised when a halfhearted one-liner gets a dose of uproarious laughter. (He thinks I married him because he's funny. I think he married me because I think he's funny.)

I actually think Alex and I are more alike than we are different. Take that, kiddo. But oil and water or oil and oil, something is keeping us from mixing harmoniously of late. I'm pregnant. Did I mention? And pregnant people reserve the God-given right to be unpleasant, cranky, easily antagonized. Zaxby's forgot to put my lite vinaigrette in the bag with my Zalad tonight and I thought briefly about several different, equally disproportionate plans of revenge. In the end, I ate my Zalad with Wish-Bone balsamic vinaigrette from our fridge and obstinately did not enjoy one single bite. Take that, Zaxby's.

"Let's push our reset buttons," I suggested to Alex after an unsuccessful shoe-shopping endeavor this morning left us both crabby and annoyed with each other.

"Well Mommy," he said sanctimoniously (before having a child of my own I would've said a 4-year-old is not capable of sanctimony, but boy, would I have been wrong). "I think you need to push your reset button. You're the one who's mad."

Sometimes pointing out to an admittedly temporarily irrational person that she's mad is exactly the wrong thing to do. "I'm not mad," I told him.

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"NO I'M NOT. I think I would know!"

When it hit me that I'd fallen into this trap and that not only had he baited me but that he was winning, I quickly pointed the car toward the nearest McDonald's, where I sought French-fried solace and he hit his reset button, took off his shoes, and disappeared into the germ-infested reaches of the indoor Play Place.

Tonight during his prayer he asked God to help me be more patient tomorrow. Amen.