My fifteen-month-old son’s favorite game is “run into Mommy’s room and grab things out of her nightstand before she catches me.” As soon as I set him on his feet at the top of the stairs, he bolts down the hall, giggling, and by the time I’ve finished fastening the baby gate behind me he’s fleeing the scene of the crime, clutching his contraband. When I catch him and pry open his little fists I find ballpoint pens, a wristwatch, my glasses, and his favorite: my...
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