Each boy was sitting at opposite ends of the dining room table eating waffles for breakfast before school.
I checked on them numerous times during the daily hustle that is hurry-eat-get-dressed-and-out-the-door-ahhhh!
In between dressing, blow drying, etc. I paused to peep in and see how the waffle eating had progressed when I overheard Eli going mafia on Jackson.
From across the table, waffle in hand, the tiny don quietly stated, “You, hit me.”
Jackson, waffle in mouth a table away, immediately responded, “No, I didn’t!”
“You, hit me.”
“No. I did not.”
“You. Hit. Me. Jackson.”
He sounded like an evil baby making sure his victim was getting the picture. As if to say: You hit me and that is how it’s going down.
Each word in a deep voice, each pronounced slowly and with purpose.
I was standing, hidden behind Eli with my mouth agape. My adorable baby turned mob boss was outlining the threats crystal clear – setting up his target. Jackson just sat there shaking his head and stuffing his face with more waffle.
It was about to go down.
I eventually came around the corner and looked at both boys. Jackson’s face was in a state of exaggerated disbelief, humor and waffle.
“What’s going on here?’ I demanded.
And in the sweetest, most adorable, tiny baby voice Eli squeaked, “Jackson hit me, mama!”
“Right dere,” he squeaked while pointing to the top of his head.
I glanced to the other end of the table where Jackson had remained the entire time.
The look on Jackson’s face was a mix of “this baby is crazy” with “I better start watching my back” and a little syrup.
This gives a whole new meaning to the Terrible Twos.