I never felt the same way about life after I held my son for the first time in 2023. Since then, everything has shifted family, relationships, priorities, and the strange amount of space occupied in my phone gallery by one very small human.

Now, at 32 months old, my son has evolved into what I like to call “a negotiator with diapers.” He doesn’t just ask for chocolate he structures his demands like a lawyer: “One more piece, then sleep. Promise.” If he had a LinkedIn, his headline would read: “Specialist in Snack-Based Diplomacy.”

I keep track of his every move like a CBI officer on a high-profile sting. Where he is, what he’s doing, which object he’s trying to dismantle, it’s all in my mental database. But then came the shocking reality check: the outside world doesn’t see him as special.

At his playgroup, he’s just another toddler. One of twenty sticky-fingered, glue-eating, block-throwing kids. No teacher whispers, “Here comes the prodigy.” They just shout, “Beta, sit down.” Honestly, it crushed me. I half expected him to be crowned “Toddler-in-Chief” by now.

That’s when it hit me, maybe it’s not the world that’s wrong. Maybe it’s me. Because the responsibility of shaping him into a decent man feels like it’s sitting squarely on my shoulders. And let’s be honest: I’m just a guy who believes no other child negotiates bedtime quite like mine.

Every parent thinks their kid is Shakespeare in training or Einstein with a Peppa Pig lunchbox. Reality check? Society doesn’t care. To them, our kids are crayons and biscuits, not Nobel laureates in diapers. And maybe that’s okay.

I’ve realized I’m not running a factory where I mold him into perfection. I’m running a garden. My job is to water, prune, protect from weeds (aka bad influences and excessive sugar), and let him grow in his own quirky, unpredictable way.

If I do my part right, maybe he’ll grow into a man who: Reads people well, because his snack-negotiating skills were sharpened at home. Feels secure, because he was always truly seen, even when the world overlooked him. Learns to adapt, because he’s practiced both blending in and standing out. And if nothing else, he’ll at least become the man who taught his dad patience.

So here’s the truth: my son is both the most extraordinary negotiator I’ve ever met and just another kid in the playgroup crying outside to go back home with his mother. And maybe that balance, “special at home, ordinary in the world” is exactly how it should be.

And who knows? If he ever runs for Prime Minister someday, remember it all started with icecream negotiations at bedtime. 

Later.

Jd