Here’s a flash for all the Yuppies in our audience. Little Justin, Jebediah, Caitlin, whatever the hell name you gave to your unholy offspring, is going to be a genius, of average intelligence or retarded–sorry, fundamentally disabled–depending on his or her genetics and whether or not he/she cracks his/her skull on the monkey bars at the park. Hanging one of those black and white mobile thingies over the crib and playing Mozart on the stereo isn’t going to turn your rug rat into Albert Einstein.
The odds are overwhelmingly that the kid will be of average intelligence. Too friggin’ bad that you want to trot the rug rat out in front of your friends and have him speaking Urdu at age 4. Stop treating your kid like a vaudeville act. As a parent, your job is to love your kid no matter what his mental capacity turns out to be and to give him the best life you can. Deal with it. You’ve got a kid to raise, which includes letting him get dirty in the park occasionally and not putting ridiculous expectations on him. If you’ve got issues with the fact that you feel you’ve let your parents down, that’s YOUR problem, not your kid’s. Let your kid be a damn kid. Now put the Baby Einstein DVD down and back away from it slowly.