Raising a terrorist

My son, he is a baby terrorist.

Today, my friend, leah, came over with her very sweet and little six-week-old daughter. Maya was enjoying a little snooze in her carrier when Jack awoke from his nap and he was very interested in the "baaabeeee!" that was downstairs.

At first, he was content to just smile at her and rock her nicely in her seat. Then he started to get a little bolder and lean in closely and get a good look at her.

Then his training from the Al Queda camps kicked in and he launched his 18-month-old jihad on her and smacked her right in the head.

I was absolutley mortified. She's six weeks old! I was sitting inches away and I could not stop it. I knew he would attack, it's his M.O. He hits, that what he does. Not in maliciousness, but more of a greeting or a "let's see what happens" kind of thing.

I gave him a stern talking to and told him we don't hit people or babies because they are very small and that's not nice and we have to be gentle. And then I dropped a United Nations peacekeeping force on him and did not let him get near her. I took away his weapons of mass destruction by holding his hands and his reign of terror was over.

Except when he sidled up to Maya while my mom was holding her on the couch. She was blocking his attack from the right when he came with the left and got her again. At this point, I was ready to leave except we were at my house and I had no recourse.

Poor Leah assured me it was totally not a big deal, but I was and still am mortified. Not to mention the fact, we're going to have to place the new baby in a bullet-proof pack-n-play until she can defend herself against her big brother's attacks.

This is why there needs to be drinking at playdates. Even when you are pregnant.