So when Big J is all smiley and happy and wonderful, or doing fun new stuff - sitting (propped up)! using hands! babbling! - which is a good percentage of the time, he's my kid.
As in, "Who's my baby? You are! Oh, I love my boy!"
And when he does things like wake up a lot. like, say. . . Every. Two. Hours. All. Night. Long - for no apparent reason - he's Nick's baby.
As in, "WHY is your kid waking up so much? Doesn't your son know it's 4 am and tomorrow is Monday and more importantly, Mama needs sleep?"
It's kind of like when I was 10 and my brother was 7 and we really wanted a dog.
We promised and promised and promised our parents we'd take care of it. They finally relented. And of course, Betty wound up doing most of the work.
At those ages, I was still bigger than my brother. And he still believed everything I said.
And so when I told him that the front half of the dog was mine, and he got the back half, it made him pretty upset.
As you may imagine.