My son Sean Michael is a joy — most of the time. Lately he’s been giving himself a clap of encouragement each time he tries to hoist himself onto the couch, and another for good measure when he doesn’t quite make it. He’s also standing with his hands clasped behind his back, like a little scholar, when deciding what to do next. And he loves books. I never thought I’d say he loves books too much, but to be honest, after he brings me the 10th book in an hour, I sometimes wish he’d entertain himself in another manner. I think he senses this, and that’s his cue to become what my wife Jules aptly calls the “devil in a diaper.” She coined the phrase after Sean Michael ran from her as she was trying to put his pajamas on. He ran to a standing lamp and started shaking it back and forth, nearly toppling it, and she said, “You little devil in a diaper!” In such moods he’ll also pull our hair, bite our arms, run into the litter box, try to hurl himself off the sofa and throw his sippy cup across the room while laughing madly. Whatever he’s doing, I feel very lucky to be his father, even if I’m regularly mistaken for his grandfather. Such is life.