You know, I love the little kid and all, but that child makes me sympathize with child abusers. I'm not saying that all children who are abused deserved it, I'm just saying I can see where if you are not quite there mentally and you were saddled with a particular type of child that it would be easy to slip over that rocky precipice of mental health.
Little kid spends his whole day figuring out what makes me nuts and doing it. Do you see me smashing this cookie into my hair? You see this right? It's messy and I'm going to sob when you take a washcloth to my cookie encrusted head. Oh, that doesn't bother you? You have no reaction to that? What if I smash it into 10 million pieces and throw it into the air like confetti while making an inhuman sound capable of shattering crystal? Yeah, that's what I thought. I knew you wouldn't like that. Note to self: add this to the daily list, it's a keeper.
Today we went to the dermatologist for a spot he has and he tried the cookie in hair thing, no reaction. Tried wiggling out of the stroller, no reaction. Ripping up a magazine, no reaction. Throwing paci on the floor and demanding it back...wait, that's starting to get old. She's beginning to crack. What if I throw it into the air and add the screeching? Then screech more when she won't give it back. Then screech louder when she tries to distract me with patty cake or itsy bitsy spider. Ohhh yeah.
See her looking around nervously? Shushing? Speaking through gritted teeth? HaHA! We've got her!! Wait, did she just shake her finger at me? I don't like her tone. That's abuse, ABUSE, did someone see it? Maybe if I start sobbing, big lip quivering, belly shaking sobs someone will notice how she is treating me. Oh, now she feels bad. But I can't stop, she treated me so terribly. Maybe if I hyperventilate a little she'll truly see the error of her ways. Awww, now the nurses and office girls are all fussing over me. They see her for what she is. SCORE!
Don't try to tell me that is typical baby behavior. I know it sounds pretty normal, but if you saw the way he stares at me, that mischievous glint in his eye, when he is pulling his crap you'd know what I mean.
And the screech? You don't even know. It's the reason he thinks his name is "Jesus Christ Kid". It is this perfect, even pitch. He hits this one note that just makes your ears want to bleed and when he hits the sweet spot, he just doesn't quit. He even does it with a smile sometimes.
He's lucky his smile is as cute as his screeching is ugly, or I probably would have slipped out of the exit door at the end of the hall today. I saw it there, calling my name, beckoning me to sweet, quiet freedom but I stayed because I'm a good mom. Or maybe because it would've been too easy for them to track me down and return him. Whatever, same thing.