I am holding my four-month-old son, Joshua, and watching Obama on Leno. My son can stand up straight…so long as I hold his hands. He stands upright, his legs akimbo, and he gives me this huge grin like he’s done something absolutely fantastic. Drool dribbles from one corner of his mouth. Then his knees buckle and he flops down again.

After a few rounds of stand up, sit down, drool, and so on, I let him flop forward onto my chest. He’s wriggling awkwardly, but he’s still smiling, and now I’m covered in drool as well.

Sort of spontaneously, I whispered, “Joshua, I am so proud of you, and I love you.” It felt right, so I said it again. And again.

Then I began crying, just a little.

As Robin Williams said, “It’s not your fault.” Hold me, Robin. Hold me.