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.