I should have thought about this before procreating: every plant left to my care has died, and our dogs took over six months to house train. I figured that since the dogs didn’t die, Eric and I were ready for children. Now I’m not so sure about that logic.Here’s how I feel about disciplining my kids: I HATE IT, and I SUCK AT IT. When I was twelve, my mom used to call me her “pink little powder puff,” (translation: “sweet little door mat”). Now I’m a bipolar little powder puff. The summer that I taught creative writing to a camp of ten-year-old girls, I had so little control over the classroom that they called me “Ms. Giggles.” Whenever they started to laugh, so did I. More than one person (more than ten, actually) have suggested I write to Nanny 911 and have her come to my house.Instead I went to therapy, of course, because every aspect of my life needs therapy. Here’s how I’m doing.