Hurricane Henry

Honest to God, I haven't had a drink in four years and this child will make me drink again. I have been cursing my father's genes all day long, because Henry is my dad's personality in a mini body. The child JUST turned three. As in, was two four months ago. THREE YEARS OLD! He should not be able to dismantle two child proof doorknob covers, open one child-latched cabinet, and bust into a jar of vitamins and a bottle of Tylenol with safety covers. IN ONE DAY.

If I were the beating sort of parent he probably wouldn't feel it, what with the mass quantity of infant Tylenol he consumed. Hard to deny that one when you have the sticky grape substance smeared across your face and the dropper in your hand, poised to drop some more of the sweet stuff in your mouth. "Henry, what are you doing?" I asked. "Um. Nofing. I'm not doing anyfing. I'm just looking at dis." Right. Did I mention that the Tylenol was on top of Jack's dresser? We're not talking a small dresser either. Henry climbed the drawer pulls to get it down. Thankfully my husband was smart enough to foresee this behavior and attached all of the furniture to the wall.

He broke into the pantry this morning, which I keep a doorknob cover on because of a rather unfortunate flour incident last year. He was sitting on the floor, happy as can be, with three half consumed snacks around himself. Just now I knew he was in the kitchen, and he was VERY quiet. Never a good sign with him. I went in and he was sitting with his back against the island. I asked what he was doing and he held up the vitamin bottle. "I opened dis." Thank God it was a new bottle and still had the paper cover on also. I asked how he opened it and he looked at me like I was an idiot. "With my hands." Touche.