It's not a hidden, deep dark, secret that kids are little weirdos, or anything, but mine reach levels of weird, that really make me question who I hang out with all day. Because they're really, very weird.
Like take Baduka, he has all sorts of strange going on. Some from autism, some from just being related to me (I totally understand his need to lick Tide Laundry Pods,) but his hatred of cuts and scabs is getting awkward. He picks scabs off, because he hates them, but that just creates new scabs. It's a neverending process. Goodness forbid, I have a blemish of my own. Then there was today. The other day Dizzy fell while holding a toy, and scratched a 2ish inch booboo onto his temple. They sat next to each other in the wagon at the grocery store. While I was dragging them around behind me, Baduka picked the scab off of it. Dizzy never said a word, or made a noise. Which means HE LET HIM. Why?!
Speaking of Dizzy, he spent 2 hours today wearing a t-shirt as pants. Seriously. Legs in the arm holes. Lost his mind when it fell down. It got to the point that I actually, pegged the waist, around his waist, to help it stay up. Which means I'm an enabler. I encourage the weird. And why? Because every time I said, "Want real pants?" He looked like he might cry, and answered back, with a lingering, "No". Who am I to judge his fashion sense? I haven't changed my shirt in 2 days.
And then there's our friend, the New Kid. He's found his own friend, the Penis, or PeePee, as he introduces it EVERY TIME I change his diaper. He then introduces whatever is around him, to his PeePee. Books, matchbox cars, puzzle pieces, cereal...
Sometimes I think they do these things so I question my own sanity. If it continues, should I crochet my own straitjacket?
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