Raising Cain

 

G the Terrible

G the Terrible

 

 

 

Raising G, with all its gratification, is very hard. Aside from the hundreds of diapers I had to change -a figure in much dispute by my very biased spouse, I realize that raising a baby is not unlike bringing home a small monkey that you have to evolve into some semblance of 21st century man. The tiny newborn is really no different from a shaved baby chimp -constantly demanding food, warmth, and definitely not house trained. Those first steps represent advancement unto the Homo erectus stage of development, and its not all that different from bringing a two foot tall non-housebroken bipedal ape into your home and life. The climbing of shelfs, the ceaseless curiosity and unwanted exploration -everything below three feet tall in your house has to be sealed against this house chimp.

Language and symbolic art represent the next level of evolution, and negotiating the act of eating and sleeping were as complex as trading with a very short, yet surprisingly shrewd and savvy Cro Magnon man. The terrible twos and threes and fours (they are all terrible) all recapitulate the various eras of human advancement with the child as hunter-gatherer all the way to medieval tyrant whose morals consists primarily of might makes right. It is only with great effort that this little narcissist learns insight and empathy -ignore this step, and you get a monstrous torturer of small animals…or a bond trader.

The great thing is, during this entire venture, this little barbarian does become incredibly fond of you, and you reciprocate. If something six foot tall with hair on its back was in your house behaving the way your three year old does, you’d call the SWAT team. But in a two and a half foot package, you smile as he whips his pants off and pees on your shrubbery.

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