I am a Rotten Mommy. I confess, you don't have to drag it out of me. And because I'm a Rotten Mommy, I set a terrible example for my son. One day I know the other Mommies are going to say, "Why do you want to play with Charlie? He's such a rotten kid!"

To wit. The Mommies are on the March, going out for pizza together. Companionable. Nice. But what does the Rotten Mommy do? She gets a soda for herself and Charlie. The other children, who never have soda, are turned into screaming Coke freaks. It's tantrum city. Mommy and Charlie sit by, sipping their Tab. "Did I cause this?" I ask politely. "Well," I'm told, "they've never had soda in their entire lives!"

Oh. First time ever. And it's all my fault.

But we're not talking about carbonated beverages. This is much more complicated. We're entering the realm of what has come to be known as Sugar Treats (or Sugar Snacks) by the Good Mommies. (A word here about Mominology. You don't say "babysitter" anymore. Uh-uh. You call them caregivers; or caretakers. A cookie or a piece of candy or even a humble graham cracker is known as a sugar treat.)

I allow Charlie to have these things. Not steadily, I'm no idiot, but if he wants them, okay, let it be. The other Mommies look on these things as Unclean. Their children nibble Rice Cakes and other items that look like mattress stuffing. They also eat gobs of raisins that stick to the teeth, but never mind. I don't argue with Other Mommies. Except one day when a mother in a toddler group I'm in picked up an entire tin of Danish butter cookies and announced she was "getting rid" of this abomination. "Now wait a minute." I growled. And everyone stared at me. Not throw out a cookie? Are you a real Mommy or what?

And it doesn't stop there. One Mommy politely inquired if I had ever fed my firstborn son a h-o-t d-o-g. "Oh, you mean a hot dog," I said, mentioning the Unmentionable. "Sure. All the time. Whenever he wants. Hebrew National."

Kosher isn't good enough for the Mommies. They want nitrite-free stuff from the expensive butcher on Third Avenue. I am reduced to feeling like a heel and can only envision the day when Charlie shocks the pants off some nice Mommy by asking for (gasp!) a hot dog, a Coke, and some cookies for lunch, please, hold the rice cakes. A rotten kid.