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I'm renaming Nelly "Death Star"

Alright, get ready to gasp. I've failed, HUGE, to supervise the second child. I'm considering renaming him to Evil Knievel, or "Death Star." Here is why people: 

I believe that almost every mother pays 200% more attention to her first born. When I had Mino, I watched him like a hawk. I remember actually throwing up from panic the first time he went with my in-laws and I couldn't get a hold of them on the phone. I was obsessed with this little life I had brought into the world. Every moment was practically caught on film, even his first immunizations, which I still can't watch!

Winner of the "Give Mom a Heart Attack Award

Winner of the "Give Mom a Heart Attack Award

Well enter Nelly and I only have two hands and suddenly I had two kids, both in diapers, and I was now working (I got to be a stay at home mommy for a while with Mino) things just weren't the same! Not to mention, you're just calmer the second time around. You know everything won't kill the baby like you thought when you had your first child. You recognize that this new kid is rugged and ready to rock out with his brother. 

Well as of late, Nelly's been rocking out a little too much for my liking. I think I need to return to watching him like a newly crawling baby! Here's why: First, he plugged in an iron after climbing on two chests of clothes to get it down (while I was working on homework with mino and he was supposed to be watching his beloved power rangers) and burned his thigh. I was alerted by the scream of "HOT!" and his pointing at the iron he had no business touching. He promptly reported that "That thing burned my body!" Did I mention Nelly is very clear and articulate? So Bad Mommy bandaged the burn, all is well, he survived. Never fear people!

Everything was okay until the following Sunday. I was having a "Mommy and Nelly day" - Mino and Daddy were gone and it was just me, Nelly, a pile of work and Porroro the Penguin on Hulu. Eventually I tired of Porroro and noon had rolled around. Nelly had been up for seven hours now (mothers of boys work from son up 'til son down) so I set Nelly up in his room, nighty night kiddo. 

It had been about 20 minutes when I thought I heard a rustle. I got up to investigate. Nelly's not in his room... hmmmm - I should also mention Nelly is far quieter than his predecessor. So I find Nelly, in the living room, sitting in front of a mountain of glitter he was rubbing into the carpet. I stared in horror. Articulate Nelly's response? "I did not do this."

"Who did this?" I looked at him, there's no one here but us.


"Mino is not here," I said. "It's just you and me, Nelly." 

"Cwis did this." Articulate Nelly was clearly sticking to his guns. 

So I get down on my knees, eye level with the mess maker. "You did this." I gestured to the glitter pile. 

"I did this?" 

"Admit it."

"Admit it?" 

Alright, forget it! I pulled out the vacuum and showed him how to use the hose. He lasted about 3 assisted minutes before he left me to do what I was clearly made to do - clean up his mess. He headed back to my room where I was sure the baby genius would turn back on his Porroro (Who needs to catch up on Scandal when there's a penguin to watch?) 

However when I got to my room I found a new horror! Nelly had picked up a couple steak knives from my dresser which were sitting on Bad Daddy's dishes from the night before. Two facts were clear to me:

1. my dresser is not a safe place, FOR ANYTHING.

2. Bad Daddy thinks I'm made to clean up his messes too. 

But I had no time to think about that, because Nelly wanted to play power rangers and was swinging his arms, a knife in each hand. This was NOT FUNNY in the moment, at all. In fact, this was a horrible failure of a moment, and I was mortified because both of us were at risk of being cut by young fists of fury here.

However, looking back, the sight of Nelly screaming "Hiya, hiya, I'm the blue ranger..." is one that's going in the "tell your prom date" file. I snatched up the steak knives and put the offender back to bed for a nap. Crises averted. Geez. 

I feel like Mino went through this whole death wish, dangerous  stage at a younger age than 3. I'm now on Nelly patrol and preschooler proofing our house (that is a thing now). All moments of silence and appliances are banned below refrigerator height. I need to hear the sound of his well spoken voice at all times for fear of new "death star" activities. If you have any shelves available, go ahead and send them over. I've got some things to put up. Oy. 

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