Frankly, I'm not sure I believe Megan's claims. How can my Bubby be anything but absolutely precious all the time!?There are so many challenges that come with parenting, beginning from the moment the baby arrives. Most of those early challenges are related to the fact the baby can't talk, can't say what's going on. Is he hungry or hurt? Sick or sleepy?

Moms (and dads) muddle through the best they can, anxiously awaiting the day their little one can talk.

Little do they know that it's once their sweet snookums can talk that the real work fun begins.

Seems Megan is just now learning that.

Bubby is nearly 19 months old. And he's learned how to communicate -- sometimes in real words, sometimes in real whines, and sometimes in all-out, throw-myself-on-the-floor, I-want-what-I-want-and-I-want-it-now-dammit tantrums.

In other words, he's hitting the terrible twos.

"What happened to my sweet boy?" Megan asked me yesterday.

"Sounds like he's definitely his mama's son," I told her.

"Yeah, that's all I can think about," she replied.

She remembers the screaming, crying, whining, door-slamming, "I hate yous!" and running to her room. Wait ... those were the teen years.

No, it's the pictures she's thinking about, she says. All the pictures we have of her as a toddler and little girl, crying because life was so absolutely horrible when she didn't get her way. Or get all the attention -- from the dog, her mom, her dad, her little sister, her big sister, anyone daring enough to visit the house.

Full disclosure: In all honesty, Megan didn't cry and throw fits because she was a brat; she cried all the damn time because she was truly heartbroken, my hypersensitive little Meggie. She regularly handed over her heart to anyone within arm's length, then suffered utter devastation when they didn't accept -- or understand -- the gift they were being given.

And now, with Bubby using all his emotions and communication skills to his full advantage, all Megan can think about are the pictures.

All I can think about is that it's payback time.

(And that she's pretty darn lucky her first child is a boy because the hell fun will really begin when she has a hormone-raging, mama-testing little girl!)

Today's question from "If ... (Questions for the Game of Life)":

If you had to choose the worst song ever composed, which one would you pick?

I'm sure there are others but as of right now, just because it's still fresh in my mind with the recent holidays, it's that absolutely stupid, sickening, ear worm of a Christmas tune (if you can call it that) by Paul McCartney that goes ... "Sim-ply hav-ing a WONderful Christmas time." AACK! I hate that song and turned off the radio or changed the channel every time it came on.