I’m Erin, a 20-something, full-time working mom of a toddler (Abby) and, in early May, an infant (as yet unnamed). I’m also a wife, a dog owner, a homeowner and a talented play-dough dinosaur-shape maker. You’ll never accuse me of being a good cook, or of being particularly handy or crafty. But victories line my mama resume, too: My child knows Billy Joel by sound, she has never laid eyes on any purple dinosaurs who sing, and she generally, pretty much always leaves the house with her teeth brushed. Small victories.

I teeter-totter on the work-motherhood balance, I excel at Saturday afternoons spent coloring or playing blocks, and I don’t get as many date nights with my husband, Dave, as I need.

As parenting styles go, I’m the one you see debating whether to pick up my toddler who’s fascinated by the display of ceramic piggy banks at the store, or whether to bust out the negotiating skills. I waffle between the responses, depending on the price of the piggy bank and who’s watching. I’m the one who taught her daughter to say “thank you” when she means “here you go” or “please” or “but I SAID please,” and I’m probably the one who accidentally taught her her first swear word. I’m not proud of that, but it happened.

I’m completely learning as I go here.