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Julie goes back to work tomorrow, so I will be on my own with Lyla. My initial goal was to avoid totally screwing everything up, but that feels unrealistic; my new goal is to prevent Julie from finding out about it when I totally screw everything up.

This weekend I could feel her eyes on me, judging my every move and generally disapproving, as though she were Simon Cowell or my 3rd grade soccer coach. "You're lying in bed while she cries in there? Are you kidding me?"

"She's talking to herself."

"She's crying."

"Okay, I'll--"

"Never mind."

She's cranky because her maternity leave is over; who wouldn't be? She spent the first 16 weeks of her daughter's life home with her, and now she has to relinquish control to her dumb-ass husband who doesn't know the difference between talking and crying.

But Lyla and I will muddle through. And Julie will be fine, too, as long as she comes home each day and perceives that the parenting has been at least half-competent.

Wish us luck.