This is Anne LaMott's musings on the first year of her grandson's life - and what it's like to watch her teenage son and his girlfriend raise their own child. I read this book during my own son's first year of life - which I thought would make me relate to so much. Instead, I found LaMott annoying and self-centered. Perhaps, grandparents reading this book might relate better. And perhaps parents watching a very yonug child raise their child might relate even better. But, I thought she lacked real perspective - while I know that all parents and grandparents find their children/grandchildren amazing and wonderful, her descriptions of her seemingly average grandchild were so over the top and distracting. She seemed overly meddlesome in her son's life - though perhaps some of this stemmed from the fact that she was contributing so much to his ability to live in San Francisco as a teenage parent. I suppose, I should have just appreciated the book for what it was - a grandmother's dotting descriptions of her grandchild, but I just expected more from such an accomplished writer.