by Steve Cummins ©Independent.ie
EVERY parent believes their baby is a prodigy. We may not know quite where their brilliance lies, but we're all convinced it's only a matter of time before we discover the complex algebraic equations scrawled in crayon on the living-room wall, or hear the flawless performance of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata on the Wiggles Dancing keyboard. Of course, not all babies will be graduating in astrophysics the same week they make their First Holy Communion, but so long as they're safe, happy and healthy most of us are content to sit back and wait for the latent genius to manifest itself, no matter how long it takes.
My boy Sam turns one this week and he is displaying a maturity heretofore unknown in a nought year old. So, why am I not happy? Why have I not invited all our friends and relatives round to bask in his reflected genius?
It's simple. I have an awful suspicion my baby is beginning the terrible twos a full year early.
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