I realize that I am often a bit harsh when talking about my three year-old son, Demon Spawn. The fact that I refer to him as Demon Spawn in itself is pretty harsh.
Truth be told, he isn’t all bad, all the time. Don’t get me wrong, bad is Demon Spawns predominate mode, but sometimes, on very rare occasions, he is sweet, helpful and dare I say even considerate. Very rare occasions.
He is also, when I step back and try to observe from the outside of the situation, just plain cute. Just this morning while I was cooking breakfast he walked up to me with his newest Lego creation, “Wook Daddy. A twain. Tugga, tugga, too, too.” After wondering a few seconds about when his next appointment with the speech therapist was, it dawned on me how insanely adorable he would seem to be to someone that didn’t spend every fucking waking moment of their dwindling lives with him…
Then he punched me in the ass and ran away screaming “I PUNCH YOUR BUTT!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”