That boy ain't right

Let me count the ways:

1. Braining me with blunt objects.
   

   I was lying on the floor, playing with him, when he careened off around a corner, laughing. I rolled over, idly playing with one of his toys, when I heard him careening back. I rolled back over to find my son, insanely laughing, holding the TiVo remote in his hand, which he chucked directly at my head. He then laughed at me as I lay there groaning.

2. Braining me again with a door handle.
   

   It was my morning to take care of him and make him breakfast. However, I'd forgotten to do my business before addressing his needs, so he was running around the house while I groggily had my moment, sitting on the pot in an extremely tired fog, head hung down low. He walked in the bathroom, obsessed with the toilet paper a little, and then wandered over to the tub to look at his bath toys. I hung my head down low again, and looked up only to see the grinning face of my son as he sent the doorknob slamming into my head, Iraqi-prison style. He ran off as I sat there groaning.

3. Slicing my nose open.
   

   I don't seem to learn. I was lying on the kitchen floor, playing with him. Although I was wary about blunt objects being hurled in my cranial direction -- at least I'd learned that much -- he didn't need any sort of weapon, as he took two of his fingers, inserted them in both my nostrils and gave a vicious, vigorous tug upward. Again, with an evil grin on his face. Since we'd been a bit neglectful about clipping his nails, I felt the drip drip drip of blood as I held my nose, groaning. It dripped all over the floor, and to add insult to injury, my son started playing in my blood.

4. Driving me insane.
   

   Last night, we made two grievous errors. The most severe first: we disrupted his nightly routine and put him straight to bed without giving him a bath first. The second: we put him to bed at somewhere around 9PM. Both of these in combination prompted 4 or 5 hours of solid screaming with zero letup. Eventually around midnight we both got a clue and gave him a bath and then put him to bed, but then he only slept for 5 hours before waking up again, screaming. Teething? No. Gas? Possibly, but probably not. Medical problem? Not likely, as he calmed down while watching "My Life on the D List" among other things. Creature from Satan's bowels? I leave it up to you, dear reader.

   He is asleep now, after having screamed solidly for about an hour -- M gave up trying to deal with him and just put him in his solitary confinement cell crib, screaming all the while. We're hoping he sleeps 5 hours or something, just for a little sanity. But both of us know it is not to be. He will wake up happy as if nothing had happened, ready to make another attempt on my life when I'm unawares. Joke's on him, though, since I may eat a bullet first or at least put up an ad on Craigslist for one healthy white baby.

Holy shit, kid. (Hello, Oedipus.)