Terror Toddler Too

My once sweet, innocent Cubby is quickly earning himself the name, ‘Terror Toddler Too’. Seriously, he seems more out to get me than any of the others.

Take this morning, for example.

As is pretty usual, both he and Boo had me up last night. I’ve mentioned to them both that sleep deprivation is frowned upon as torture method by the Geneva Convention and the UN. Neither of them care. Then, Cubby demanded to co-sleep. I’ve mentioned before that I don’t do well with co-sleeping, but in the interest of getting any sleep at all, give in.

I became vaguely aware of him rampaging around the bed, but since he seems to think that it’s his own personal MMA ring, I tune it out.

I now have reason to believe that he was dragging his soggy diaper butt up and down my bed. like a dog dragging its butt on the rug.

The reason I suspect this?

Because, out of nowhere, a wet diaper butt was ON MY FACE.

Yes. He’d managed to overfill his diaper, so that it was soggy and gross, and then SAT ON MY FACE. After rolling all around the bed. Which means after frantically trying to scrub my face off, I get to strip the bed and do a load of linens first thing in the morning. Yay.

Terror Toddler Too, see?

He LOOKS sweet and innocent.

He LOOKS sweet and innocent.

Then there’s the biting.

He’s in THAT phase, it seems.

And what REALLY burns my *insert baked good here* is that when you jump, yelp “NO!” and move him away from you? HE cries! Like HE’S the injured party! He’s just gone all Hannibal Lecter on my leg, but HE’S the one that’s crying! Which, in this house, brings someone else running to the rescue, demanding to know what happened.

There’s Cubby, wailing piteously, tears streaming down his face, looking for all the world like a broken-hearted innocent.

“What happened?!” the person demands frantically, looking him over for injury.

“He bit me.” I try really hard not to sound like a sulky child. There’s something about being gnawed on by a one year old that automatically makes you sound like a petty whiner for objecting to being used as their own personal chew toy.

The person, usually Wolf or Diva, turns in slow motion to stare at me.


“He BIT me.”

They look back at Cubby, the wounded angel, sobbing his broken heart out.

“Really. HE bit YOU.”

“He did! He bit my thigh!”

Shaking their head sadly, they pick up Cubby…who looks at me over their shoulder, and blows a raspberry at me. He KNOWS! He’s playing us all!

But, revenge is a bit sweet.

He bit Wolf last night.

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Terror Toddler Too — 3 Comments

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