"Chee" pronounced James confidently.
I looked down at the fork.
"Yes, James! That's right! There are three peas on the fork."
Amazement and awe flooded through me. At the tender age of two, my son could count. Was that normal? I didn't think so. Oh, my son the genius!
"Chee," pronounced James again.
I looked at the spoon, overflowing with peas and there it was, nestled in the back of the spoon: cheese.
Illusions of genius dispersed in the wind, like seeds from a dandelion head.
Parenthood is a funny thing. We all know our children are special. We just want a definitive way to prove that to outsiders, so that they will have the same awe and wonder for our amazing children as we do. But really, no one ever really loves and adores our little wonders in the same way we do.
Statisically, childhood genii are less likely to be adult genii. It's far more important for children to have a happy childhood than one that pushes them not just to succeed but to excel, from earlier and earlier ages.
So cheese it is. Not 'chree'. And humility, Mummy. He's precious simply because of who he is, my son, not what he can do.
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