As I was putting the finishing touches on a gourmet dinner tonight, by which I mean boiling water for instant oatmeal and cutting up a mango that was clearly past its prime, Avery appeared at the table with a large, erratic slit cut into the knee of her size 4T hot pink pants. She immediately brought this fashion atrocity to my attention by saying, “What a small little hole cut in my pants. Only a small little person like Declan could cut such a hole.”
The gaping cavity in her legwear could neither be called a “hole” or “small,” but Avery was never one to let something as trivial as the blatant, obvious truth get in the way of her schemes.
Given the fact that Declan is 18 months old, and was currently preoccupied smashing grapes and Goldfish crackers into his Little People bus, I was more than skeptical. Of course, Avery’s story would have been slightly more credible if she didn’t still have a pair of safety scissors firmly clutched in one hand, or if Declan actually possessed the fine motor skills to use a dull pair of safety blades that are specifically designed NOT to cut through anything remotely resembling flesh to attempt the crime in question.
I suppose this incident by itself shouldn’t alarm me, but it’s only the latest in a long chain of events that has led me to believe that Avery is a remorseless sociopath. Yesterday, she drew all over Declan with her Magic Markers and told me he did it to himself. The sick part is, I actually believed her, going so far as to scold Declan, until I realized that the drawing extended to the back of his neck and under his clothes in places that he couldn’t possibly reach. The real tip-off was the multi-colored rainbow carefully outlined on his back, forming a perfect arc between his poor, unwitting shoulder blades.
What’s even sadder? I don’t know what I’m more upset about, the fact that my daughter will go to such lengths to get other people in trouble, or that my son sat there and allowed her to use him as a human sketch pad.
Despite the fact that Declan was more than willing to serve as a dim-witted patsy in Avery’s evil plot, I remain convinced that he will pay it forward with the next one. In about 5 weeks or so, he’ll have his own opportunity to torture and harass a little sibling. And it’s no wonder the baby’s breech — if I were her, I wouldn’t want to come out either. Understandably, she’s been more than content to spend the better half of the last month standing on my cervix, kneeing me in the colon every 5 minutes to make sure I don’t get any crazy ideas about uninterrupted sleep.
Babies are lucky they’re cute. Because they’re also unrepentant jerks.
And as it turns out, we would’ve had to throw Avery’s leggings away today even if she hadn’t attacked them with a crusty pair of bright orange scissors. Soon after the full details of what will now be referred to as PantsGate 2013 revealed themselves, the princess was blessed with an explosive case of leaky diarrhea that led to a long bath, a serious self-examination of my life choices, and a quick trip to the outside garbage bin with a Target bag full of her shit-stained clothes.
Karma’s a bitch, Avery. Apparently, so is demanding overripe mangoes for dinner.