Everybody has that one friend for whom they’re constantly making excuses.
“He’s not normally like this” or “He’s cool once you get to know him” or “He’s got a weird sense of humor.”
After a while, though, it starts to become apparent that despite your friendship, that’s an awful lot of caveats. Maybe it’s time for the guy to start taking some of the blame for his own behavior.
Lately, that’s how I feel about my son.
Everyone laments the speed with which kids grow up. Parents are constantly warning other parents how quickly a kid’s childhood flies by and how, before you know it, the apple of your eye is suddenly in college.
But that’s not what scares me. Watching my kid get older will definitely be bittersweet in the long-run, but I’m more concerned with the now. Specifically, the double-edged sword that is my son’s rapidly increasing intelligence and physical development, and how it affects me on a daily basis. Because every new skill my son acquires brings with it an increase to my day-to-day stress.
It’s been a thrill to watch my son develop, from a baby blob to a silent crawler to a little walker and, nowadays, to a loud, hyperactive tantrum-thrower. But every exciting milestone (first steps, first word, first throw, first “No!”) also opens the floodgates to new bits of behavior that are often more annoying than impressive.
The smarter he gets, the more difficult life becomes.