Poor Emo

Let me start with the fact that I adore my kidlet.  He is beautiful, funny, smart, kind and charming.  And he has an amazing sense of comedic timing to boot.  However, there are times that his precocious-ness is, well, not only embarrassing but also, potentially, fight-inducing.  

Today we are walking into Target to buy, of course, baby hangers.  I swear I buy baby hangers on a weekly basis but that is not the point.  

While we are walking in, Emo-kid is walking out.  Let me describe his ensemble so that my (almost) two year old does not look rude.  I mean, really, Emo had this one coming.  

Burnt orange, skin tight (as in you can tell his religion) capri pants with slashes and holes all over them.  Held together with safety pins and slung so low his underwear (tighty whiteys!  egads!) are showing.  Paired with calf high, multi-buckled boots and an Ed Hardy t-shirt.  And, naturally, the dyed black spiky hair, multiple piercings and 'tude.  

I mean, really, kid... you don't look like an intellectual/poet/dreamer who is too above this world.  You look like a pathetic kid who cuts himself in the bathroom while listening to bad music.  

Bebe boy thinks that Emo is, clearly, there for his amusement and is in dire need of attention.  And attention he will provide.  He is yelling at the top of his lungs (as only a toddler can do):  "Mom.  Silly.  Pants.  Wowie.  Crazy.  Mom.  Pants.  Silly.  Wowie.  Silly.  Crazy.  Pants."  Over and over.  The only stopping was to laugh hysterically (to the point of falling down) all while jumping up and down and pointing.  This was quite possibly the funniest thing he had ever seen.  {The only thing that can compare to his level of reaction was when the elephant at the zoo pooped and tooted for approximately 10 minutes straight.  That about sent bebe boy over the edge}.

Of course, the more I try to shush him the louder he becomes because NO DOUBT I SIMPLY CAN'T SEE EMO.  So, please, baby, point him out so that everyone can look at him.  I pick him up and turn him away thinking he might get distracted by something, anything else.  No can do.  He simply arches himself backwards/upside down and continues his antics.  

Emo is horrified and angry.  I swear his internal debate was "Should I go to my car and cut myself or should I attack the lady and her kid?"  

However, I assume ole Emo opted for self-mutilation because, well, he weighed about 75 pounds and appeared to suffer from an iron deficiency -- even me the very pregnant pacifist could have taken him on.  Hell, my toddler (who downed a 5 ounce rib eye last night) could have taken him.  

Poor Emo.  Got his ass verbally kicked by a toddler.  THAT is something to ponder while listening to Marilyn Manson.