Life with Demon Baby is like a reality show.
Imagine . . . you are in the shower, naked, soaped up, shampoo in your hair. You hear someone trying to break down the bathroom door with an axe. What do you do?
You don't even rinse, you run, dripping wet (trying not to slip and kill yourself) and open the door to find . . . not an axe murderer, but Demon Baby, using a heavy book as a hammer and trying to break down the door so he can . . . "keep you company."
How fast can you race up a flight of stairs before he hurls a container of yogurt over the balcony landing?
Can you rescue the dog with irritable bowel before Demon Baby feeds him M&Ms and corn?
I can imagine the show, the challenges. It's not for the faint of heart.
And that is why babysitters and family members don't "watch" Demon Baby. They "survive" him.
Our babysitter "survived" on Tuesday.