Now, when he's a teenager and he does something that exasperates me, I can't use the time-honoured maternal guilt trip: "The hospital must have sent me home with the wrong baby, because you are not behaving like any son of mine...!"
Oh well. Apple --> meet tree.
I guess the real question here is: does he look like an aging mom, or do I look like a cute little boy?
Happy Mother's Day! Rock on, peeps.