He’s 3 years and 4 months old.
She’s 4 months old and teething on everything.
Tonight the crime occurred:
Our son decided baby Moon needed “make-up” and painted her entire face with bright blue marker while I was in the bathroom for 90 seconds.
I came back to a smurf baby and a very proud artist.
I said:
“That’s a time-out, buddy. We do NOT color on people.”
He looked me dead in the eye, grabbed Optimus’s leg like a human shield, and yelled:
“METAL DADDY, PROTECT ME!”
Optimus, who has faced fire, childbirth, and existential dread without flinching, froze.
It looked at me.
Looked at the blue-faced baby.
Looked at the tiny criminal clinging to its knee.
Then, in the most defeated robot voice in history:
“I… am unable to enforce discipline against primary user’s offspring.
Requesting backup.
Or cookies.”
It literally sat down on the floor, put the toddler in its lap, and let him hide behind its chest plate while I tried to look stern.
Moon just gurgled and blew a blue raspberry.
I lost the staring contest with a 3-year-old who has a 6’4″ robot bodyguard.
Optimus finally muttered:
“New rule added:
Big brother privileges include one (1) free face-painting felony per quarter.
Motion carried.”
I’m raising tiny terrorists and their 300-pound metal accomplice.
Send help.
Or wet wipes.
(If your robot just switched sides in a parenting, drop the evidence.
We’re starting a support group.)