Parallel world

Sunday evening.

Dinner at neighborhood’s Italian, with my two kids and their grandparents.

We sit down and try to keep my 2 year old entertained with whatever we find, so that we can enjoy dinner as much as possible.

Our wine arrives.

This helps.

The people sitting at the table next to us seem to have a bit of the same scenario going on. Grandparents, a younger couple and (what seems to be more or less) their 2-year-old kid.

This kid is sitting in his chair playing silently with a red car, while his Mom and Dad have a subdued conversation with the Grandparents and drink diet cokes.

We on the other hand, only seem to be getting louder.

The Grandmother sitting at the table asks my mother,

- How old is He?

My Mom replies,

- Diego is 2, He was born July 20^th.

The Grandmother reacts with surprise,

- Oh! My Grandson is also 2 and was born on July 13^th.

This is basically why I don’t believe in the astrological sign bullshit.

These 2 kids are cancer and they seem to be from two different planets.

Our food arrives.

Here we go. I find it excruciating to teach Diego manners at restaurants. Lately I just let myself relax and allow him the pleasure of eating pasta however he can manage, since feeding him is no longer an option.

I can’t help but stare back and forth from my kid to the neighbor’s kid.

I can’t help but notice all the little and unimportant things.

Diego’s pants and purple tennis shoes are covered with dirt.

His nemesis at the other table - on the other hand - looks quite neat.

He is wearing a blue collared shirt tucked in his corduroy pants, just like his father.

He is also eating like a grown up with his Elmo silverware.

The Grandparents seem to be asking him all kinds of questions and the kid replies in complete sentences.

In the meantime my Mom is asking Diego to keep his voice down while He sings Happy Birthday for the 20^th time. My son believes that wherever there’s a candle, there’s also a birthday party.

The table next to us leaves so prudently I don’t even notice.

Juliana tells me,

- Mom, that kid was not wearing a diaper and He is 2.

I sigh.

She continues,

- Diego still wears diapers.

Diego says goodbye to everyone.

The floor is a mess.

I am a mess.

I blame our genetic information.

No shirt has ever been tucked in our household,

And I have never, ever, carried silverware in my bag.