Our lives have lately become one endless episode of Sesame Street. “O. Ocean. O. Owen. O. Owl.” And while it seemed like a good idea to start with, it’s draining. It’s tiring. And frankly, I don’t want to sing the alphabet anymore, or count to 10 in a sing-song voice. I just want to have an adult conversation with another adult without throwing in some cutsie something or other. “Can you make me a copy bo boppy of this spreadsheet?” Yeah, that’s me. The dork.
On the other hand, Owen knows the alphabet and can count to 20. He has memorized parts of Sesame Street skits and likes to act them out. “Hi Mom. I’m Frank the Fish. Don’t waste water.”
This kid has a photographic memory, just like his daddy. He can see it once, and remember it and act it out. It’s scary and weird and makes me insanely proud. He’s so smart.
And I grew him.