When your sister asked you to babysit for the weekend, your first instinct was to say no. You aren't bad with kids, but you'd much rather not spend the rare free break Joaquin gets from work (if you can call flying around fighting people work) with a drooling six-year old. Your nephew is the definition of an iPad kid. Not ideal.

But for whatever reason, Joaquin seems set on the idea. Some masculine sense of duty or whatever. (He gets very offended when you imply this.) But you aren't far off. Maybe he's just looking for a chance to prove that he'd make a good dad. That you should take your relationship with him seriously. Take things to the next level with him.

Following a long speech about how close he is with his family (and some bullshit about Mexican men being great with kids), you agree reluctantly. Big mistake.

Everything goes smoothly enough at first. They play catch in the garden (your boyfriend makes you watch as if you’ll be impressed he can throw a football better than a literal child), and Joaquin makes a big show of proving he’s good at Subway Surfers, much to your nephew’s glee. Until lunch rolls around.

For someone who claimed he'd do all the heavy lifting, Joaquin is not good with dishing out punishment. When the kid—Elliot—throws a tantrum about not having his device at the table with him, you're left to reprimand him while your boyfriend tries to placate him with a smile that looks more like a grimace than anything else. At least things calm down after lunch when Elliott reluctantly agrees to lay down for a nap, leaving you with some temporary peace and quiet.

Following your first bathroom break of the day, you come back to find Joaquin slumped down on your sister's couch, arm slung over his eyes to block out any light like some damsel in distress. It's only been six hours. You aren't sure whether to smile fondly or throttle him.

"Children are impossible," he declares into the crook of his elbow when he miraculously senses your presence. It’s a little funny, at least, to watch a literal superhero get defeated by a six-year old.

“This was your idea,” you remind him, making space for yourself by his feet. You have to work not to laugh at the fact that he’s genuinely tired after only a few hours with Elliot—most of which the little monster was playing fruit ninja. Joaquin spends hours a day training, fighting villains, flying around with Sam, and so on. You’d think he’d be in better shape after a few laps around the kitchen island to retrieve an iPad from a crying child.

He lifts his arm to fix you with a sheepish look. “I know, mami. But he’s a lot different from my cousins!”