B. Rex

If my life were a movie, today would be Jurassic Park. And I would be not the lovely Laura Dern but Jeff Goldblum. Nerdy, good vocabulary, sarcastic and frantically trying to convince everyone else that we’re in deep trouble here, folks. Everyone else is just smiling indulgently and patting me on the head. There, there. It’s not so bad, it’s just motherhood. You’ll survive.

The thing is though, I’ve given birth to a fricken dinosaur. Boogiesaurus Rex, also known as B. Rex, has eclipsed his cousin Tyrannosaurus Rex by growing extra long arms. He’s virtually unstoppable. Godzilla ain’t got nothin’ on B. Rex.

A little over two weeks ago, my little Pudgepot grew fangs and talons. He’s gotten up at midnight and poured the sugar canister into the coffeemaker and the coffee canister on the floor. He’s dumped not one but eight bottles of coffee syrup on his bedroom rug while feigning a nap. Three nights ago, he snuck out of his room and emptied an entire gallon of milk in front of the couch. He spray painted his fingers black in under a half of a second. He threw his siblings treasured possessions behind the couch. The only way to keep him in his bed at night is to forgo an afternoon nap, which really just means my day is two hours longer.

B. Rex is literally the most exhausting creature in all of creation, and I’m not kidding. You tell people your toddler is a menace and they don’t believe you. Apparently calling him an ass is “bad parenting”. I’m definitely Jeff Goldblum. We’re screwed.

The big kids started school yesterday and Pook doesn’t start her developmental preschool until Tuesday, so it’s me and the littles during the day. B. Rex has tried to murder his twin by hitting her in the face with a stainless steel spoon rest and nearly murdered me. I went to the bathroom and emerged to find the bowl of purple jello I’d planned for after school snacks upended on the floor. I found it with my feet, which promptly parted ways with the ground and tossed me on my butt. I layed in the middle of the floor, spread eagled and chunks of grape gelatin in my hair, wondering what the natural predator for such a beast might be. What could possibly defeat such a stealthy, sneaky, silent foe?

Mamasaurus Rex enters stage left. She doles out spankings and furiously swipes up the jello leavings and spouts a ferocious stream of curse words. Grandmamasaurus would most assuredly not approve.

Mamasaurus does not care. Not one little bit.

Off to make a new snack. Welcome home, big kids. Hope y’all like grilled B. Rex cuz it’s the main course. Yes, you may have seconds.