The Return of Spawn

From time to time, my cousin asks my grandmother to watch her son, AKA Spawn.  Now, I admit that I’m the only one who refers to him by this less-than-complementary moniker, but if the name fits…

Now, Spawn has been through a couple of ups and downs in his short life.  At nearly two, he’s living in his third residence, his parents are no longer together, and now his big, bad second cousin is on the scene.  Some people have a natural affinity for children.  I am not one of those people.  He’s also in that pre-verbal, diaper-wearing stage that I really can’t cope with.  I can be the fun “aunt” when they’re a little bit older, but as awkward as I am with adults, my discomfort is multiplied ten-fold with those under the age of sixteen.

0210He haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaates me.  Usually, I’m obsessed with being a people pleaser, but in this case, I’m willing to make an exception.  You see, Spawn is a wee bit spoiled and – in addition to being  a stranger – I’m the only one who doesn’t coddle him.  He hits my grandmother semi-regularly, bangs not-soft items into the glass table and tv, reaches up blindly onto counters and tables (and the stove – it makes me NUTS) and flings things onto the floor.  I’m the only one who tells him that this is not okay, so therefore I’m pure evil.

I get that he’s two; I’m not asking him to wash the dishes.  However, I do make him pick up things that he flings onto the floor and this has made me Spawn Enemy No. 1.  I’ll still sleep well tonight.

Too bad he’s such a cute little stinker.


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