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Home > Blogs > Adventures in Motherhood > Archives > 2008 > March > 01 > Entry
Psycho tot on the loose!
My 2-year-old is a handful. He happily darts from place to place, creating havoc everywhere he goes, and try as we might, Hubby and I can’t seem to avert disaster 100 percent of the time — no matter how vigilant we try to be.
We were spoiled by our two older kids. They were such good listeners! No lie, one of my oldest’s first words was “decoration,” which helped him make the distinction between objets d’art and playthings that were safe for him to touch (Grandma’s house is full of antiques and collectibles that I didn’t want to be picking up shard by shard).
Not so with our youngest. As with many a toddling terrorist, “no” to him means, “yes, but wait till Mommy’s back is turned.”
In his short life, he’s heard the standard warning words — sharp! hot! ouch! — a bazillion times, but they have yet to sink in.
Take the recent “Butcher Knife Incident,” for example: My husband and I are standing together at the stove, stirring pots for dinner. Baby silently sidles up beside us, slides open the silverware drawer and withdraws a chef’s knife the size of his arm.
“The horror!” you exclaim. But what happens next is even more terrifying.
He starts running — yes, running — into the next room to show Grandma his new-found treasure.
She gasps, we gasp. He spins around and starts running back to us, waving his Weapon of Mass Destruction high above his head! Anthony Perkins, eat your heart out.
Thank the Lord we stayed calm enough not to scare him into dropping the blade into his foot. Or our feet. I still don’t know how we all managed to escape bodily harm.
And Grandma will certainly have a tale to tell her Bible circle. With a kid like him, we should reserve a permanent spot on their prayer list!
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