Not You Too

Shortly after Casey was born, we jokingly started calling him our "angel child."  This was in comparison with our "mischievous" (I would never use the word devil) 2 year old who was learning the art of whining and tantruming and hitting and pushing our every nerve.

And of course Casey was an angel in comparison - he lied there.  He slept.  Well.  He smiled and coo-ed and was a laid back baby.  I really thought to myself - maybe he will be my easy one.

Hahahahahahahaha.

In the past six months or so, Casey has really started to assert himself.  And though he can't yet talk in complete sentences, if he could, he would probably say something like, "You thought I would be your easy one?  You thought wrong, beeyatch!"

I now lovingly refer to him as my little terror.  It's a term of endearment, I swear.

My God, does that kid whine.  Every word is repeated twice.  The first time is a soft, cute little single word, that is spoken in the tone of a question.  This is immediately followed by the same word, which takes the form of a screaming, screeching command.  So if he wants a cracker, it goes like this:
Crackee?  
CRACKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Every. single. time.  No matter how fast I get him the damn crackee.

My God, does that kid run.  It's as if when he is finally let out into the world outside of our home, he has to run with all his might as quickly as he can AWAY from me.  And then look back at me with a coy little smile, to see me running after him, only to turn around and run even quicker.  So if you see me at a park, at a store, or anywhere besides my residence, if I am not holding a toddler, I am most surely chasing after one.

And my God, is this kid needy.  It's a constant "Uppy!" (Translation - pick me up or I will harass you until you do);  "Babba!" (Translation - put on Yo Gabba Gabba or I will point and scream at the TV until you can't take it anymore"); or just "Daddy!" (Did I mention the little crapper wee one doesn't even call me Mommy?  He calls me Daddy.  Don't even get me started on that one.).

But my God, is this kid cute.

Yesterday we were waiting in line at Wendy's, when the woman behind me started waving at him. Casey was being his usual flirtatious self, and waving and smiling back.  I smiled proudly, thinking, Yeah, I know.  Isn't he precious?  

In the midst of this brief moment of motherly pride, I heard the familiar jingle:
Fench-fie?  FENCH-FIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The woman looked startled by his scream, but still smiled at his verbal abilities.  I started to explain to Casey that we had to wait our turn in line, and we would be getting french fries very so-

BAM.  My glasses are thrown off of my face in the midst of a toddler bitch slap, and Casey starts flailing backwards, with my hair in both his fists.

Apparently my angel child is now a hitter as well.

I tried to recover gracefully.  I put my glasses back on and pried my hair out of his kung-fu grip.

The woman behind me looked horrified.  At this point I didn't give a shit.  I just wanted my Wendy's.  And apparently so did Casey.

It's a good thing he's so adorable.  And that I love him so much it hurts.

But so help me, do you realize I have two of these little devils?  (Oops, I do use that word).