I thought I had a few more months until when I asked Shef not to do something – not to deliberately throw his ravioli, piece after piece, on the floor, for instance – he would look at me as if to say,

“I know exactly what you want me to do, and although it seems reasonable, I will not do it. I will do the opposite of what you want me to do, and while I do that, I will dare you to try to stop me, all the while knowing you can’t stop me because I’m only 14 months-old and therefore pretty much unpunishable.”

Yep.

It’s going to be a long eighteen years.