Ok. So I'm about to say something and you're either going to nod your head in complete agreement or you're going to drop what you're doing, get in your car, drive to my house and stick a lit cigarette in my eye.
There are a lot of kids out there that I don't like. In fact, if we're being honest, I would say that I want to give a good shake to approximately two out of three. By the way, this blog will be destroyed should I ever be investigated by the state.
IknowIknowIknow - all children are magical creatures, I believe that children are our future, Jesus loves the little children... I get it.
But I think you know exactly which kids I'm talking about and even as you're extinguishing your cigarette into my retina I know that deep down you feel exactly the same way.
They're the kids who scream through your entire dinner at a restaurant. The kids who throw themselves on the floor at the grocery store. The kids who ask you when your baby is coming even though you gave birth two weeks ago.
Naturally, when I see a kid that I don't like my dislike automatically extends to the parents. You know, because they are horrible people for raising a kid that sucks.
Before I had Ellie OF COURSE I was positive that I would never have a kid that sucks. I would have a well-mannered, funny, cute, smart, charming-at-all-times kid. The kind of kid that does not exist but there was no doubt that mine would be the first.
Yesterday my single friend Carrie came over to cut and color my hair and Ellie woke up from her nap about 1/2 way through. No sweat, I would just bring her downstairs and let her quietly play in the playroom for an hour or so. Because she doesn't suck.
Unbeknownst to me, I had actually brought Damian the child demon, son of Satan, downstairs. There was an uncanny resemblance - the demon child had done a very good job with the imitation. The minute I put her in the playroom and closed the baby gate her head spun around and she started speaking Latin.
What the hell? Just before she went down for her nap she was laughing and blubbering and talking to her stuffed animals and reading books about quantum physics.
I whipped my foil covered head around and looked at Carrie and saw a very familiar look in her eyes. She thinks Ellie sucks. Once someone thinks your baby sucks, they also think that you suck. And once you both suck, it's nearly impossible to un-suck.
By the time Carrie left and sped home to sew her vagina shut, Ellie's head had spun all the way off and lay next to her Hello Kitty vanity while her headless body continued to flail and kick the baby gate.
How had this happened? Where had this child demon come from? I had never seen her hit anything, and she was throwing right hooks at the baby gate like it told her she looked fat in her prom dress.
And, almost on cue, as soon as Carrie's car pulled out of the driveway, Ellie smiled, crawled away and started quietly playing with her toys. I was left standing there, wondering what the hell had just happened and where I had gone wrong as a parent. Like so many parents before me, I had been defeated.
At least my hair looks good.