My daughter, looking at pictures on the phone: Mom, remember that time you gave me chicken tenders?
Me, half listening: Hmm? When? Last week?
Her: No, yesterday a long time ago (translation: any time in the past).
Me: Uh, no, I think I gave you chicken tenders last week though (still patting myself on the back for getting protein in her belly).
Her: No. When I was a baby.
Me, now fully attentive and confused: Huh? When you were a baby? I didn’t give you chicken tenders when you were a baby.
Her: Yes you did. See? Right here (flips the phone toward me).
Me squinting for a better look. Processing a picture of her as a baby with red spots on her face.
Me: Oh, baby, those weren’t chicken tenders. Those were chicken pox.
And from the language of babes, I went from being my own hero in a cape holding high a plate of delicious chicken tenders to the cackling villain who gave her own kid the pox just before her six month vaccination.