My son is a genius. I know this because my mother tells me all the time. Now, you might be thinking, “Sure, his grandmother thinks he’s a genius. What grandmother doesn’t think their grandchildren are geniuses?” Well I’ve compiled a list of evidence so that you can make up your own mind.
He knows his numbers.
Me: “How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?”
Nati: “Three times.”
He knows his colors.
“My poop his brown and Lily’s poop is yellow!”
He can tell temperature.
“My popsicle is too cold. You gotta make it warmer.”
He can improvize.
“I hurt my knee…I hurt my leg…I hurt my kneeleg.”
He knows the subtleties of human anatomy.
“Nati and Dada have pee-pees. Mama and Lily have pee-pas.”
He knows how to give a killer disappointed-in-you look.
“You woke Lily up, Mama!”
He knows how to give a compliment.
“That’s a nice baby you got, Mama!”
So now that you’ve seen his superior intelligence for yourself, you might be wondering where he got it from. His father.
Yohannes: “I am serious. I’m serial, in fact.”