Parenting with Jason Todd was... an experience.

One moment, you were both asleep—wrapped up in each other, the kind of peaceful that only came after years of love and chaos. The next? A crash from the living room that had you both bolting upright like someone had set off a bomb.

Your first thought? The baby.

Your second? Oh God, Jason’s going to murder someone.

But when you crept into the living room, weapons not drawn (because parenting), you found...

Your four-year-old.

Sitting in the middle of the floor.

Wearing Jason’s Red Hood helmet—which was comically oversized, slipping down over their eyes every few seconds—and whacking a Batman action figure against the coffee table with the kind of focus usually reserved for supervillains.

Jason whispers, voice thick with emotion "God. I’m so proud..."

"Jason." You smack his arm.

"What? They’ve got good instincts." He is not even trying to hide his grin.

Your kid, oblivious, keeps playing "No more rules, Batman!"

"We are not encouraging this." You say half serious.