In light of mounting evidence I think it’s time we stopped putting money into AJR’s 529 plan and start saving for legal fees instead because I’m pretty convinced that I’m raising a future serial killer.
Listen, I know that toddlers can be like Sour Patch Kids – first they’re sour, then they’re sweet (credit goes to my little sister for this dead on analogy). But there’s something a little more underhanded and sinister lurking beneath those blue-green eyes, I just know it. And a mother knows.
Do you think that Mrs. Dahmer thought that little Jeff-Jeff was going to grow up into the monster that he was? Or that Mrs. Bundy thought her sweet lil’ Teddy could do no wrong when in fact he could do a whole lot of wrong?
My guess is they were so enamored with their little boys that they brushed off clear, red flag signs with a dismissive “oh, he’s a boy!” or “it’s just his age!”. Well, there’s no wool over these eyes! Before you call me crazy and paranoid, let me present you with some solid facts and photographic evidence of his psychopathic tendencies.
First off, he is a pusher, which I discussed at length here. It’s not that he pushes, because lots of kids his age do that. It’s the lack of remorse and almost gleeful way that he talks about it. After an incident at school one day I was trying to discuss it with him in a calm, rational manner when he smiled and said, “Mommy, I push (insert kid’s name here)!” Then laughed. For all I know he’s making little notches in his crib with a Lego shiv each time he claims another victim.
He buries ants with sand from his sandbox and asks “Where the ant go?” as part of a twisted game he’s invented. Before the ant grows weaker, he/she will resurface and I’m screaming “RUN, ANT! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!” But it’s too late. little Lenny over here nonchalantly goes back into the box for another scoopful muttering “I need more sand…”
His charm, which seems like a check in the “not a future mass murderer” column, actually works against him. He really knows how to turn it on with a well-placed “I love you mommy!” or “I love playing trains with you, mommy!” However, it’s always the mild-mannered, seemingly nice guy with the impeccable lawn that ends up having dozens of bodies buried in his basement. His neighbors are shocked, and when interviewed say “He was always such a nice guy! Watered my flowers for me. I never would have suspected that!” As a result, I am always quick to respond with a cautious “I love you too” and “Yes! Trains are so fun!” to stay on his good side. (PS: Trains are not fun. Especially when your toddler gives you the crappiest train in the pile. When can I get Olivia Barbies? Now that’s something I won’t mind playing for hours on end)
AJR’s coloring skills leave something to be desired. And by leave something to be desired, I mean he colors like you would imagine a serial killer to color. If my life were a movie, then cue to Jodi Foster walking into my house, gun drawn trying to find AJR. She walks past our fridge and sees it plastered with similar, crude pictures. Her expression turns to one of horror as she gingerly touches the paper and mumbles “what sort of sick…” and then you hear the scamper of tiny feet on the hardwood and she whirls around yelling out “I know you’re in here!” Okay, you get the idea. All of these get thrown into the trash as soon as he’s asleep.
You may look at this next picture and say “How cute! He’s very excited about his ice cream!” No. His “happy face” is basically a teeth-baring scream coupled with a really creepy laugh. This is the sort of smile/laugh that the evil villain has when he comes up with a particularly sinister plot and is wringing his hands together in diabolical delight at the thought of executing it.
Every night before bed AJR asks me to sing Ring-Around-the-Rosie. In the dark. Seemingly harmless…if you’re surrounded by a group of toddlers holding hands in broad daylight falling sweetly to the ground amidst giggles. Requesting a song about The Black Plague as something to soothe you to sleep? 100% twisted. I won’t be surprised one day when there’s a “The Conjuring 24” and the preview is set to the haunting sound of children singing “Ring-Around-the-Rosie” while a demon-child runs around the hallways of a nice, old Victorian home scaring the shit out of everyone. This will probably be loosely based on a true story of our life, FYI.
(I have no picture for this because I want you to be able to sleep at night)
This drill. We had to hide it because he would take it, charge us, and yell “SAY AAAHHHHHHH” No clue where or how he learned this, but the drill has since been hidden. No further explanation needed.
And lastly, his obsession with Mommy. Norman Bates anyone? Honestly, if he starts calling me “Mother” he’s going to boarding school.
Maybe one of these things in isolation could be written off, but I’ve spent the past few months building a case. Optimistically, I’m hoping that it’s only a phase, as most things are with toddlers. But just in case, I will be keeping him in the crib as long as possible and napping with one eye open during the 22 minutes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse I get to “relax”.