At some point after I married and before I had a child, my competitive juices disappeared. I used to chase down every tennis ball, even the ones easily lobbed over my gigantic 5'8" stature when I tried to approach the net. I used to run a mile in under 8 minutes. Then I convinced myself that walk-running was still quality exercise. I chose tennis partners that were at least in their 40s, and I started growing man boobs.
My son Matthew changed that. My competitive juices returned, as I aimed to make Matthew the best child ever. I did this all for the sake of the children, which by the way is the most popular cliched phrase used by politicians aside from "You're sure this won't be traced back to me?"
Parenting has become the new cutthroat sport, even moreso than Ultimate Fighting. Joe Rogan should start broadcasting from Gymborees in the greater Chicago area. I'm serious. There might not be as much blood, but there's plenty more saliva and other bodily fluids.
What I'm getting at is that parents think their kid is the best, and everyone else's kid is, well, OK. Cute, even. But certainly not as much as their child. This mindset starts early, weeks after the baby exits the womb. One of our first doctor's appointments went kind of like this:
Doctor: He's very alert. That's good.
Me: Yes, we know. We already sent his Mensa application in the mail.
Doctor: He has good mobility in his legs.
Me: Michael Phelps ain't got nothing on this kid, except when it comes to killer bong hits.
Doctor: He looks to be a healthy weight and height.
Me: Shall we slather him in oil, dress him in a toga and start calling him Zeus?
The comparisons start soon after. My son smiled at me at four weeks! (Are you sure he didn't just have some gas?) Then the subject goes to and hinders on mobility. Parents state proudly that their child rolled over on their stomach all by themselves last week, not realizing that newborn calves start walking as soon as they drop out of their mother, so big freaking deal.
Then the children start crawling, and it's a question of if they crawl as fast as the other child, or if they're crawling on their hands and knees, which is wayyy more advanced than Army crawling. If your son or daughter misses these milestones by a couple weeks, you're bound to hear the following: "Oh, every child has their own schedule. All in due time." That statement is accompanied by sad, pitying looks from the parents of children who walked at 9 months and apparently learned trigonometry during television commercials for Dora the Explorer.
If you think this competition ends with personal accomplishments, you’re sorely mistaken. Clothes is the next battle arena. Some parents apparently think it’s worth spending $75 for a pair of shoes that their kid will outgrow in 15 days. And then on to the toys. Oh, the toys! You know what the big toy is now for kids Matthew’s age? It’s called a sand-and-water table. You put sand on one side, and water on the other, and the kids can stand there, create mud, and throw it at each other. Sounds great! Though I have a secret about sand-and-water tables. I know the best one you could ever have, in fact. It’s called North Beach. Check it out.
Of course, all these parents are missing something. Sure, your one-year-old might have walked early, and my one-year-old might be able to go up AND down the stairs. But they all have one thing in common, at least at the moment: They still crap themselves. So go ahead and think about how athletic and intelligent your child is while you change his diaper and breathe through your mouth. Go ahead and do it, for the sake of the children.
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