My son is a maniac. He’s cute and cuddly and sweet and will smack you in the face. It hurts too, especially since I he got those brass knuckles for his birthday.
I know I just touched on this recently, but I think it’s time to readdress, especially after what happened yesterday.
Here's how it went down, I hobbled into the kitchen after a full day of work, wounded and weary from punching the clock. I'm laying it on thick here, but it's my story so I'll tell it. Anyway, I felt the stress evaporate upon seeing my son's little face. And my wife, her face too of course.
Inside, I picked up my one and only child, my little boy. I was ready to play, and seeing the little red phone lying on the table, I grabbed it and put it to my ear.
Me: Ring, ring. Hello. Oh, Hi. Yes, Simon’s right here. It’s for you Simon.
Him: Gurgling noises.
I handed him the phone, he took the call, placing it to the back of his neck because that’s just how he rolls. I looked on with proud goofy smile and it doesn't occur to me that I've given him a weapon and a clear shot. Why would it, he's a cute and cuddly, WHAM! The stars are out and I'm seeing constellations.
Me, doing my best to censor myself: Ah, ma grump it, son of a…
That's exactly what happened. Hearing what could be considered snickering, I spun around to find my wife's face still with traces of a smile.
“Did you see that? He hit me with the phone.” My son sneered at me for snitching and I feared repercussions.
“Simon, don’t hit your father,” my wife said in a way that made me think she enjoyed me getting bonked over the head. That’s also when I realized the distinct possibility of my being the butt of countless jokes between mother and son for years to come.
But back to this thirst for blood thing. Although Mom has met Thunder and Lighting on occasion, I’m still the preferred punching bag in the house--the dogs being a distant second. I’ve been hit with a water bottle, sippy cup, wooden mallet (toy sized but still wooden), blocks, the remote control, Thomas The Train, books, and if I hadn’t ducked, a candle stick. (In hindsight, I've played Clue and should have seen that one coming).
My wife says it’s because he’s all ego right now, that he doesn’t understand how a cast iron skillet to the face can cause some serious discomfort. I don't know about all of that child development babble, just that I'm not above flinching when he picks up a toy truck.
I tell him no, but he gives us the cutest pout lip face I’ve ever seen in my life. But no more, I won't be fooled me by his little tricks any longer. Like President Bush once said, "Fool me once, who wants ice cream?" I know that behind that adorable little smile are five little puppy teeth ready to sink in to my collarbone.
Okay, I've managed to perhaps, maybe, might have blown some of his antics out of proportion. (Like the Mom making fun of me, she wouldn't do that). But still, he did get in trouble at daycare for his incessant slapping, so we need to work on the keeping our hands to ourselves thing. And hey, it's not all bad news, tonight he slapped me his first high five in the bathtub, so maybe all of this hand slapping is just his way of telling me I'm all right. I'll just have to duck...