My husband and I marveled at [our older daughter's] exceptional development and obvious intelligence. And I think we marveled a bit at ourselves: good parenting, great DNA. Let's do this again, we decided.CRINGE. We hope Frances never reads this! Assuming she ever learns how to read, that is.
Here comes Frances. Or, more aptly, there she sits. Our fifteen-month-old. Not walking. Barely standing on her own. Just perched on her haunches, clapping at a pair of strappy Weeboks still tagged and in the box. Frances has one word: "hot!" It means "scalding coffee," sure, but it also means "touch," "look," "hey!" "can I have that?" "duck," "light," and "ceiling." Friends' children, younger than Frances, say words and perform physical feats that might as well be sonnets and high-flying acrobatics compared to my girl. A boy in the neighborhood, born four months after her — which in baby time is like Gen Y to Frances's Gen X — runs circles around her. Literally. What does Frances do? She sits in the middle of the floor, pointing at him, saying, "hot, hot, hot!" She's a chubby-kneed Paris Hilton.
Behind The Curve [Babble]