My Summer of the Wild Gorilla Boy

Do you remember that towheaded toddler from about three and a half weeks ago?

The one who would accompany me to the library three times a week and carry books to the car? Would bake cookies with me and swipe chocolate chips and batter when I wasn't looking? The very same who began sleeping 12 hour stretches and woke up bright eyed and smiling?

He's still around, to be sure, but it seems that he morphs into a young mountain gorilla at certain points in the day. (Lots and lots of points in the day, actually...)

Our sweet tempered Boo loves his sister...I swear he does! He browbeats preschoolers at the library who get too close to her stroller. He swats flies that land near her saying "go away FLY! not my baby sister!" He never misses her baths or a chance to wring a wash cloth in her eye.

But since the Sunday evening we brought McK home, the boy has shown certain silverback tendencies I've never seen in him before. If he were to climb the tree out back and start pounding his chest and screeching in a terrifying low gorilla yell, I'd not be surprised. Much.

To date, I've had "NOOOO!" shouted at me at least 3,423 times. I've been spit on (yes, actual mouth driven, icky boy spit) six or seven. He's rocketed me in the head with a water bottle, kicked me in the face when we were all lying on the floor relaxing, and launched a hotwheels at me more times than I can count.

Daddy's threats of "whoopins" are met with a laugh (and maybe another spit). The actual spankings that used to keep Boy Wonder in line (with the mere THREAT of one) do nothing. I swear to God, the boy actually chuckles when you swat his butt in spite of you.

And poor baby sister. In her short three weeks, she's been sniped by a Yoda happy meal toy (don't you dare judge me...), swiffered one or two times when big brother Boo thinks she "looks dirty", been drenched by a soaked washcloth during her bathtimes when big brother helps, had half her face brushed off by the soft bristled weapon Boo found in her toiletry basket, had a bottle nozzle shoved halfway up her nose ("she's hungry") and had her pacifiers and blankets stolen and tossed over the railing once or twice.

Anymore of this sibling affection, and McK is going to be cage-rage ready before preschool...we were hoping for a tough little girl, but neither P or I put in an order for the Terminator and that's just where we're headed if she's raised among the gorilla boys at this rate.

Don't get me wrong, we see enough of our "sweet angel boy" each day to avoid locking him on the back patio over night...it's just that the more stressful times seemed to have come out of nowhere and have me wondering what Jane Goodall and Diane Fossey might have suggested as a way to restore the peace...to regain balance and order. To save my sanity.

Tranquilizer dart, anyone?

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