It has become quite apparent to me that I'm not only that mom, but I'm that mom to one of those kids. You know. The mom who says "no" exactly 17 times to a child that obviously does not yet understand the meaning of the word "no" but still believes he'll get it at least before she gets to 20.
I'd like to think it's because he speaks fluent Chinese and French, and therefore has had little time to master simple English.
But no, he's just one of those kids.
I'm certainly not one to label or single out children based on their behavior, but if I saw my little paper-eating terror disguised as a cute smiley baby I'd run.
Trying to put a diaper on him is like trying to put a diaper on a slippery hog, except no one would ever be dumb enough to attempt to put a diaper on a slippery hog. And trying to dress him in anything that involves more than one snap is just pure unadulterated hell, however I bet in hell, there are none of those high pitched glass-shattering "You're killing me softly with those 5,000 snaps" screeches.
He's figured out how to open the toilet bowl so that he can swish his hand in pee, toilet water, and wet toilet paper, and then slam the top down on his fingers about four times. He enjoys pulling hair, preferably both mine and my daughter's at the same time while laughing increasingly louder the more we scream. And don't dare take any dangerous items that might not necessarily be considered dangerous but when he throws, eats, spikes, or hammers them they become lethal weapons from his tight grasp or he will scream for very long and tiring minutes.
In the middle of a very crowded place for all people to see and judge you harshly.
I suppose if I had birthed one of those kids my first go round, I wouldn't be so surprised. But my daughter knew that paper was not for snacking but rather for drawing total and complete faces at 18 months old. And she'd much prefer learning the function of electrical sockets as well as how to spell them rather than sticking her finger in one.
But now I'm that mom running around after that kid. You've seen them, right?
Oh wait. Strike that. You've seen the fuzzy resemblance of a mom running after her children at playdates. Their ass never hits so much of a seat before they're running to rescue all small children, animals, and hell, toys from the tight fists of their child, all the while spouting apologies and excuses that are barely audible because they're mixed with "stop that, don't do that, put that down." They enter the room and immediately scan it for any possible device, toy, weapon, or non-edible (but extremely tasty) item before letting their child loose. After introducing themselves they do the pre-emptive "he's just very active and loves to be around people" speech which really means "hold onto anything of value sister because my kid is going to knock it to hell and back before you can say 'spinach dip anyone?'"
And even then the kid still ends up with carpet fuzz, a piece of a Pottery Barn Kids catalog, and some kid's hair in his mouth. All of which the mother has to scoop out while her child screams like an angry baboon much to the displeasure of the other moms who are happily discussing their new chocolate chip recipe.
And being that mom to one of those kids now entails protecting your older child and all of her belongings. And your house now looks like you've just been robbed because you can't even keep a ball of foam on your shelves because well, he'd eat that too. In fact, it wouldn't be so bad if you were robbed because then that would leave about fourteen less things for your kid to try to climb, eat, and run into.
On the plus side, your ass never looked better. Too bad you don't get to stand still for anyone to actually see it.