Sometimes He Deceives Me

Sometimes the kid is so cute, he deceives me. I start to think, He is a normal little angelic boy. He is not a Demon Baby with evil powers beyond the grasp of mere mortals.

Those thoughts don't last long. Usually, he outs himself as a Demon pretty quickly.

"Mommy, can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

He asks me this while dressed in his brother's T-shirt, which sweeps the floor, making him look like Olive Oyl's sweet little Sweet Pea.

He bats his eyes.

"I just really love you. I want to snuggle with you. Please?" Bats eyes more.

"Well . . . maybe tonight. If you're quiet." Because he really looks SO innocent.

I turn my back to walk into my office and then . . . he asks.

"Will you move your legs so I can dance?"

"What?"

"Breakdance. On your bed. Your legs get in the way."

"You want to DANCE in my bed. At bedtime?"

"Yeah." Nonchalantly. "Of course. Will you move your legs?"

"Bedtime is for SLEEPING."

"No. All right, I'll tell you what . . . what if I dance on your carpet. Will that be OK?"

Oh, Demon Baby . . . tonight you sleep in your OWN bed. I am very tired.

Demon Baby at the Zoo

Demon baby went to the zoo. He was so sweet. He talked to the giraffes. He pet the giraffes. We almost forgot he was a Demon Baby. See the gentle Demon.

Then Demon Baby decided he wanted to scale the fence. He actually got in with the moose. Bad security. No mere fence can keep a Demon Baby from his appointed mission. Note the determined face.

Lunch with a Demon

We went out for lunch today--the whole gang of us. Demon Baby was absolutely delightful and well-behaved. Though he, as usual, decided the waiter had to know WAY TOO MUCH information about our family.

What do I mean?

LAST TIME we went out for dinner, he stood up and told the waiter, in a voice loud enough to be heard over a jackhammer, "I just farted and it smells like peanut butter." THAT kind of Too Much Information. I pitied the poor waiter. Had some toddler said that to me when I was waiting tables, I would have dropped my tray.

Today's lunch, this was what the waiter had to hear:

Waiter: "Would you like a drink?"
DB: "I want cheese."
Waiter: "You want to DRINK cheese?"
DB: "Yes. I want cheese."
Mom: "He'll take a Sprite."
DB: "Tell him about the beetle that flew into your hair today."
Mom: "I'll have a Coke."
DB: "TELL HIM! IT WAS A GROSS BEETLE AND IT FLEW RIGHT INTO HER HAIR."
Waiter: "Everyone else's drinks?"
DB: "I want cheese. Mom, tell him." Looks at waiter. "Cheese. Just get me cheese."

You get the idea. BUT, he was well behaved. THEN they brought Wet-naps.

DB: "What's this?"
Mom: "You open it when your done with lunch and clean your hands."
DB: "COOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Open it."
Mom: "But you haven't eaten yet."
DB: "Please? I want to see."
Mom opens pack.
DB: "WOW! LOOK AT THIS! It's wet. WOW! EVERYONE LOOK. THEY HAVE A WET NAPKIN IN HERE."

Once this miracle of modern man was revealed, he sat and dutifully ate lunch. No farting discussions. He was being SO good. We ALMOST made it out of lunch with no incidents.

And then . . . after he ate, he wiped his hands. And then proceeded to ball up the Wet-nap, toss it over his shoulder, where it landed in the middle of the table in back of our booth.

I apologized. PROFUSELY. And God bless the three women who laughed instead of got mad. Properly chastized, Demon Baby behaved, and we got through paying the bill.

I tip very well.

Now you know why.

Irony

Demon Baby, whose favorite song in the whole wide world is Bulls on Parade by Rage Against the Machine . . . comes in to me yesterday and says "Let's sing songs."

"Okay. What do you want to sing" said I, expecting I'd have to bust out the lyrics to "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" or . . . "Train in Vain" by the Clash. I have them downloaded for our USUAL sing-alongs.

But his new favorite sing-along song?

The Christian "This little light of mine . . . ." You know how it goes. "I'm gonna let it shine . . . let it shine . . . let it shine . . . let it shine."

As he sang it yesterday at the TOP of HIS LUNGS. And I mean TOP. I mean I am sure the neighbors' windows were rattling. I started laughing. It went from just a little smile to a chuckle, to a laughing, tears streaming down my face howl. We sang it TEN times.

Don't get me wrong. There's NO, and I mean NO halo over his head.

And yet . . . his light really DOES shine. If ever there was a picture of exuberance. Energy. Living life at top-speed 24/7, it's the Demon Baby.

So maybe there's a little angel in there somewhere.

Sleep Lust

My life has had a very obvious progression. Clive Owen used to be my major lust. I've seen all Clive's movies. I've even seen his BBC series before he was famous. I imagined one day I would run off with Clive Owen.

Somewhere along the way, I moved on. To Anthony Bourdain. Perhaps I realized that I didn't particulary suit someone as suave as Clive. No . . . I would be better off with a chef who can knock back a few shots after work, who can stay up all night. When you have four kids, staying up all night is a reality much of the time. If I'm not being awakened by Demon Baby or waiting for the sound of Oldest Daughter's car to come into the driveway after her part-time job at a restaurant . . . it's Baby Girl's nightmare or Oldest Boy's migraine. In short, it's always something. So Anthony became my new lust.

When sleep deprivation reached epic proportions, the assorted men on Demon Baby's favorite morning pre-school shows started to look good to me. Steve from Blues Clues started looking quite handsome in his green-striped shirt. But I soon settled on the Blue Wiggle as my lust and point of fascination. Even wearing his Blue Wiggle shirt, Anthony (another Anthony) looked quite handsome to me. In a suit, he's rather dreamy.

Now? Quite frankly, all I lust after is SLEEP. I would write a check for all the money in my checking account (admittedly not much) for ONE SOLID NIGHT'S SLEEP. No one waking me at two a.m. No Demon Baby nightmares or crying out for me. No Baby Girl climbing in my bed and kicking me (she is a first-class kicker). No Oldest Daughter stomping up the stairs late at night (she's not angry--just has a heavy footfall). I lust for a quiet room, maybe some soft classical music. And sleep.

Since Demon Baby's arrival three years ago . . . my priorities have entirely changed. I have Sleep Lust not Clive Lust.

Symbiosis

Demon Baby and I are joined at the hip, pretty much. Like all my kids, I breast-fed him for two years. When you breastfeed that long, it means, frankly, that all total with four kids, I have spent eight YEARS with a kid latched onto me much of the time.

Once he was weaned . . . sure, he found his demon footing and was off to explore the world. But he is still pretty keyed in to me. I work from home. My office is in my dining room, with my desk and ME pretty accessible 24/7. I am in the thick of things in the house.

And lately, I think Demon Baby is starting (baby steps . . . just starting) to see that his Demon Baby ways are starting to send me to the nuthouse. I mean . . . what is the "happy face" reaction to waking up at 5:00 a.m. to a child who is sitting on you and demanding orange juice, and when you don't move fast enough, he decides to pinch you. Hard. There's just no "Gee, I love these mom moments" way about it. The kid has worn me out.

Of course, I adore him, too. And we laugh and giggle and wrestle. But it's not an "easy" childhood.

Lately, though, he comes to me, rests his head on my arm and looks up at me with BIG BROWN innocent eyes, and says, "I just spilled my juice all over the dog. Are you HAPPY, Mom?"

"No. Spilling juice on the dog isn't a nice thing to do. I am not happy."

"Well, I want you to be happy. I'm sorry."

He spends much of the day now, measuring whether things make ME happy or not. I am not sure if that is good or bad, but I take it as a gratifying sign he actually HAS a conscience. We were once so attached at the hip that I knew what he needed before he ever cried. Now we're feeling our way. Separate but symbiotic on some level.

It's not easy. But yes, most of the time, I am happy.

Except those 5:00 a.m. wake-up episodes. I am a LOT happier when I have had sleep.

Minions

Oh my God . . . the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse have arrived.

Demon Baby is in a full-court press for . . .


. . . wait for it . . .

a baby brother. As in he WANTS one. BAD. And feels the need to ask me for one every five minutes.

I know it's a ploy.

He doesn't really want a baby brother. He wants a minion.