Mr. Hyde is, in fact, a gremlin

The last couple of weeks have been chock-full of blogging fodder, the most delectable victual being the critical discovery that my son has a Dr. Jekyll/ Mr. Hyde complex. Nowhere in my pregnant “what-to-do-in-case-of-such-and-such” readings was there a footnote informing me that I would be giving birth to half pure evil. The heads up might have been nice. You know, a little “hey, congrats on the man-child…oh and, don’t forget to catch up on your Gremlins —that blender scene might come in handy”.

Thanks for that.

So the other day I had a doctor’s appointment. I, of course, took little Hyde with me as I was low on the amount of Benadryl I had left in the house and I wasn’t willing to leave him on the couch as a Seran wrap burrito without the added benefit of drowsiness. Oh the mistakes we make. Not only did my little rapscallion run out of the automatic doors and into the parking lot as I was trying to sign over the rest of the month’s food budget; but he disturbed all the little old people so much, I’m sure more than one had a stroke whilst in the waiting area. Seriously. I heard one guy snort and then…nothing.

This non-commitment to one personality is killing me and Hyde usually chooses to materialize in the most public of places. The worst part of the whole thing is that I have no idea what acceptable methods of public discipline are. I’m pretty sure they don’t involve my usual hog-tying, but what other options are there really? I mean really??? When we were waiting I kept trying to whisper in boy-child’s ear to coax him into reason....you know things like, “Please stop baby. Do you see all the scary old people with big noses? They will talk crazy to you if you don’t stay close to Mommy.”

Of course this didn’t work, and I didn’t really expect it to work. I’m sure Hyde was laughing inside at my pitiful attempt. I was really just doing it so that everyone else in the vicinity would think I was a very capable and consistent mother and that I had proper disciplining techniques. I could see the nurses behind the desk judging my skills because of his wild antics and then nod in serious approval when I pulled the boy aside and whispered in his ear. I’m sure they thought I was smiling patiently and saying, “Stop, or you will have a time-out” or other such nonsense. Really, I was digging for empathy, “I know Mommy is smiling on the outside, but Mommy is dying on the inside. You are killing your own Mommy, how does that make you feel?” Did you know two-year-olds don’t care if you are dying on the inside?

Initially the appointment started out as a means for me to find out how to get re-pregnant. By the time I left, the appointment had become a symbol of wonderment as to why I would actually attempt to have such a destructive oversight again.

In all fairness, I’m pretty sure I knew this was coming; I just didn’t think my “creative patience” powers were going to be strained beyond the ‘duct-tape-child-to-the-wall’ stage. I’ve had to come up with all new protocol, most of which seem a little too cruel or unusual to use on my little darling, and none of which seem cruel or unusual enough to use on my little hellion.

P.S. Mommies to be: I’m serious about Gremlins-- you can thank me later.