I have never harbored any secret wish that Riley be a gifted child. I hope he loves to read and that he's better at math than I am (he'd have to practically be a blind canary pecking wildly at an abacus to be any worse) and most of all that he's a good communicator—because I believe the ability to expertly communicate with other people is what really makes the difference in your life and career, way more than any other learned skill—but really, I have no fervent desire to see him skip grades, win chess tournaments, or go to college at the age of 14.
So I hope you don't think I'm bragging when I tell you that HOLY GOD MY KID IS A GENIUS CALL MENSA RIGHT NOW.
Okay, I'm exaggerating, but Riley is seriously blowing my mind lately with the things he can remember. He can recite the contents of most of his favorite books, page by page. Even the tongue-twisting Dr. Seuss shit. He knows all the lyrics to "On Top of Spaghetti", which is more than I can say for his father (JB: "Uh, all covered with . . . uh, line?" Me: "CHEESE, DAMMIT."), and he pre-announces each Maisy segment after only one viewing ("Boats, Mommy! Dis one with da boats!").
It's sort of amazing to see how his little brain just soaks up information all day long, he's aware of so much more than I give him credit for.
Then again, he still predictably whacks the bejesus out of his head on the dining room table every single time he crawls under it to retrieve a toy, so . . . okay, let's hold off on that Mensa call. FOR NOW.