My Kid Wants To Be A Serial Killer

My Monster is a contrarian. No matter what you say, she’ll say the opposite. Tell her she likes fruit snacks? Nope. She hates them. Tell her it’s cold? Nope. She’s hot.

I should have considered that a few weeks ago, when we were out on a family trip to see some Christmas lights.

Stopped at a red light, Monster pipes up from her car seat, saying she wants to be a ninja when she grows up.

I jokingly replied, “You can be anything you want, as long as it’s not a serial killer.”

…

“I wanna be see-ree-all killa!”

Angela and I spent the next several minutes desperately trying to convince her to be something else, ANYTHING else. But nope. “I wanna be see-ree-all killa!”

At least I can hope she’s young enough to think it just means murdering a bowl of Cap’n Crunch, right?

Update – January 5th, 2018

I have continued studying the subject known as Monster. Today, Monster spent half an hour chasing her sister with a plastic meat cleaver from a toy cookware set she got for Christmas, cackling madly. I am concerned.

Update – January 10th, 2018

The situation may be more dire than expected. My research suggests there may be a genetic component to Monster’s murderous desires. While on a cockroach-hunting mission, I discovered this at the top of her mother’s closet.

Update – January 17th, 2018

The condition is spreading. Today, I made the girls sandwiches and orange slices, served on Mickey Mouse-shaped plates.

Baby bit her sandwich into the shape of a mouth and placed it on the plate, then added two orange slices for eyes.

“Hey, you made a face!” I said.

“Uh huh! I’m gonna eat his mouth, but I’m gonna drink his eyes!” she said, smiling ear to ear.

I’m beginning to fear for my safety.