So far, this week has been chock full of baby sweetness. Jacob is thrilled to be back at school after a week of being out with terminal sniffles. He's had two three-star days* in a row, and I'm pulling for a third. Danny, meanwhile, is still running on all cuteness cylinders.

At the risk of sounding like Bad Mom, I have to admit my youngest son is just easier. Jacob, who turns five tomorrow (holy shit), is brilliant and handsome and funny, but definitely a more complicated kid. He is fully capable of debating me on any subject, procrastinating, complaining, etc. He has an incredibly strong sense of right and wrong, and he's vocal about it. He, like his mom, likes to be in charge.

Danny, at two-and-a-half, is a jolly little fellow. That's the word we use for him -- jolly. He's so freakin' happy to see us. He loves to hug. He loves butterfly and eskimo kisses, and snuggling with me in Big Bed (the name we inadvertently gave Mommy And Daddy's Giant King-Sized Bed). He loves the cats, and he loves his brother, and he loves the nanny, and he definitely loves my parents. He has a particularly strong bond with my dad -- not surprising, since Danny supposedly looks just like me as a baby.

At this age, Jacob had already begun having difficulties with us. He had an 18-month speech delay, which frustrated him to no end. We had him evaluated at around 26 months, just to make sure everything was okay, and decided to go with speech therapy. I was pregnant with Danny and concerned that the speech delay would cause even more problems for Jacob when he suddenly became A Big Brother And Therefore No Longer The Empire Of The Universe. Speech therapy helped, but we still dealt with fairly typical toddler tantrum behavior from Jacob.

Danny rarely resorts to tantrums; somehow, this kid just always gets his way, or doesn't get as pissed off when he doesn't. It's funny to me; Danny will just matter-of-factly ask for what he wants in his little adorable-tot voice, and it's like he's got me hypnotized. I'm in Jewel with him, doing a quick shop as the blizzard hits, and he decides he wants cake. Not the slice of cheese or corned beef offered to him in the deli, but cake. Cake, cake, cake.

We don't buy cake, unless it's someone's birthday. And I'm not normally a total pushover about what the kids want me to get at the store; even Jacob understands when I say "No, not today." So you can understand how weird it is when I just turn my cart into the baking aisle and let Danny pick out a cake mix and chocolate frosting. It was so easy to justify -- Danny asked for it. It's a blizzard outside and therefore we probably won't leave the apartment for the next 48 hours. Kids love cake. Daddy likes cake. Yes-we-should-make-a-cake .

Same thing happens in the morning. I have to go to work. I have a really tight schedule because I absolutely have to be at my desk for a bare minimum of 8 hours per day (not 7.9) and I have to commute to the burbs for work and I have to pick up whoever's at preschool by 6 pm at the absolute latest and I have to get the kids asleep by 7 pm. But Danny will just look at me, putting my watch on, and say "No. Mommy down." And, like the properly trained Mommybot I am, I move directly to my bed where the Littlest Prince is ensconced and sit down next to him so he can tuck his sweet little toddler body into mine. Suddenly it's just not so important for me to get gas on my way to work or take 15 minutes to grab a drab salad to gobble at my desk. Because the Baby Wants More Snuggles, and damned if he's going to miss out.

I'd say Danny is spoiled, but he seems to understand when we really do have to leave, or take a nap, or not buy the giant dancing BooBah, and is usually distractable. But I tell ya, the kid is fucking edible. Paul Reiser said it perfectly... it's hard to explain the need to physically chew on your younguns, until you have one. Then, the only way to express how much you love them is to actually eat them.

*I'll explain later.