My son is 17 years old and learns how to grind and grind. I’m cooking dinner, he’s there. 15 minutes, patience is over. Suddenly the tone changes - the "laughter of narcissists" is spread. I turn to him with a wild face, the laughter cuts down, the two-foot boy looks at me sadly: "Mommy, well, I'm your baby! You don’t like the child’s laughter.