I am convinced all moms frequently ask themselves some version of the following question: Is my kid worse than your kid? This question comes in many forms. It comes with and without judgement from others and from ourselves. It comes before leaving for a playdate. It comes at the grocery store. It comes with a meltdown in Target--especially when you see that mom with her perfect hair and her perfect outfit and her perfect little child, quietly engaged as they actually sit still in the cart eating (not throwing or threatening to spit out their food) and every other word is "please" and "thank you." And if you're anything like me you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror looking like you just left a yoga class (which you probably did), spilled lunch on your lap while you drove like a crazy person (both of which you probably did, too) just to make it to a store you hate entering to purchase things you wish you didn't need with children who ...