This Demon Baby . . . when I think he can deliver "shock and awe" no more . . . defies all expectations.
The scene: My downstairs bathroom. It is a half-bath. Hardwood floors. Marble sink. Toilet. Toilet paper holder. Framed art on the walls (photos of Buddha statues taken by Demon's father).
Demon, now potty trained, has been in the bathroom a little bit TOO long. As in . . . mischief must be afoot.
I try the door.
It is locked.
"Let me in, Demon Baby."
"Are you OK?"
I pick the lock. (A skill I have become quite good at with him being a master of locking himself in rooms the better to wreak havoc.)
And there is Demon Baby. Stark naked.
He has REMOVED the toilet paper and the little spring insert that fits inside the roll. Thus leaving two roll holders projecting out horizontally from the wall.
And Demon Baby has used his potty chair to CLIMB like a ROCK CLIMBER on top of the roll holders . . butt out (naked, so picture this), face pressed against the wall, one foot on each holder, hands reaching for a his next rock-climbing hold--MY ARTWORK!
Yes, my son was "rock-climbing" up the bathroom wall. Naked.
I am telling you, I may be a novelist, but I could not make this sh*t up.