You’re in luck. In 2016 I would have called you on that,’ not trying to be prideful’ bs. I probably would have told you that someone puffed you up with so much helium that I could pop you like a balloon.
I made a New Year’s resolution to be more diplomatic though.
The fact that you were so acutely aware of the fact that you were in a gifted program in grade school is a shame. Someone did you a real disservice. I notice that you didn’t mention that you were in an accelerated program in high school. Nor did you name drop some Ivy League college degree, so I’m left to conclude that you may feel that you didn’t meet your expectations.
Your son isn’t your make up test. The fact that you had him IQ tested says more about you than him. Kids these days are under enough pressure. This arbitrary number that has been assigned to him is utterly meaningless.
Is he happy? Is he well balanced? You’ve said that he’s a really good boy with exceptional talents. I’m not sure why you needed to specify them as fine arts skills. Maybe you specialized in engineering.
If your son is, as you say, ” the greatest thing that has ever happened to you” get your act together. Being a parent is about loving your child unconditionally. You tested him for you. You wanted to prove something to yourself. That was a lousy thing to do. It’s ok though. Every parent screws up.
The question is, how will you move forward? Will you look at him as a disappointment or will you nurture his strengths? They may be different than your own but that doesn’t make them less valuable. IQ is only one in a myriad of ways to measure one’s worth.
My guess is that you were hoping that your son would be successful. Success isn’t measured by attaining a certain level of degree. That’s something that your parents burdened you with. Success is about doing what you love and being able to earn a living doing it.
There is nothing wrong with your son. Those tests are subject to any number of variables. Let go of the number and cherish your son. Ultimately, most degrees hang on the wall, never to be spoken of again. I’ll tell you what. You work on that and I’ll work on my New Year’s resolution. It seems like my diplomacy could use some fine tuning.
Outsource it. Send him to an improve class. If other people appreciate his impressions, so much the better. If not, let him work it out there. Why tear him down at home? Neither one of you wins.
As for the impersonations in the bedroom, that’s a hard no. Let him know that he’s the only one that you want. Try to be gentle. If you break his spirit, the loving time is over.
If that doesn’t do the trick, you’ll need to have a chat. Sit him down in someplace other than the bedroom and just tell him that the Jim Carey routine doesn’t work for you. If you want to drive the message home, have him wait there while you slip into an alluring ensemble, then invite him to join you in the bedroom. In your sultry voice tell him that the other guys aren’t invited. He’ll get the point.
You asked what I would do, so I’ll tell you. Dr. Phil probably wouldn’t approve though. You know the Maurice Sendak book, Where The Wild Things Are, don’t you? As a last resort, assuming that you’ve spoken with the mother and the teacher to no avail, give in to your maternal instincts. Stand in between your baby and the biter. Roar your terrible roar and gnash your terrible teeth. You might even mutter something like, No Biting!
Just don’t let anyone see you. Some people tend to frown upon that sort of thing. But you know what? Mr. Munchy will think twice before biting your daughter. Plus, she’s too young to be embarrassed. She’ll think you’re the coolest thing on earth.