When your child has a developmental arch-nemesis

City Hall (Rådhuset) in Stockholm really is a lovely building. I remember walking past it one autumn evening, and there being a fantastic ice sculpture outside that everyone was trying to photograph as it melted.

It was in 1901 that Wilhelm Conrad Röntgen was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics for his discovery of x-rays (or Röntgen rays). Sexy bastard, isn't he?

I imagine that I will be back at City Hall again, in the not too distant future, when a small boy whom I will only refer to as "Egon" (for the sake of anonymity) receives an award for his work on quantum nanoparticle polarization. Which I should get partial credit for, as I just invented it.

He's two weeks older than the Kid, and yet, wiser than most people I work with at the County. He was recognizing letters when they were... not yet a year old, I believe. My kid was focusing her efforts on shoving peas up her nose. His mother said he loved these small foam letters that came in a plastic tub. I ran out and bought them; my cats ate them. The Kid also thought they were fun to chew on after watching the cats. I had to eventually collect them all and throw them away due to rampant germs and lack of interest.

Then we got into shapes. Egon already knew his colors from his earlier work with the alphabet -- I doubled up shapes and colors to try and catch up. I'd point to a triangle. "Baby, what's this?"

"Twiangle", she would gurgle. I was estatic. "And what color is it, baby?"

"GRANDMA!" she would shout, quite pleased with herself.

"No, it's red, baby, red. Can you show me the red triangle?" I would speak to her like she was a small Japanese tourist. She would point to a square. Egon, however, was quite fascinated with concentric circles. We were rapidly losing ground.

My child enjoys dancing. She dances to the radio, to cell phone ringers, to AT&T TV commercials... anything. Egon is researching two-digit numbers. He walks around with his little plastic numbers and announces "One seven. Seventeen. Seven one. Seventy one!" I asked the Kid what the first letter of her name was. She laughed and walked away. I am slowly acclimating myself to the realization that I have given birth to Boo Radley.

I fantasize about sending her to Egon's house for a few weeks, and having her come home, making math jokes and reciting poetry in Latin, like Little Man Tate.

We're going to go visit The Boy (and his new sister!!) in a couple of weeks. I hope the Kid takes notes.

You know, he would really be a much better arch-nemesis if he wasn't so delicious.