Sexual Harassment - it's not just for grownups anymore.

I married something of a self-proclaimed cad. Let's face it, you don't get a name like Deviant Dad if you're not at least a little bit of a cad. So I don't know why I was surprised yesterday when Captain Kid demonstrated what is likely the first of many such odes to his genetic legacy.

We decided to go out for a change of scenery and hopefully to find some non-sweats drawstring pants for me to go into my office for a brief meeting later this week. On the way we decided to stop off at our local burger joint for a quick bite.

So our waitress is a very cute and very blonde 16 or 17 year old girl. Long hair, skinny, the kind of girl you hated in high school. Well, apparently the Captain takes note of this, too, because when she comes over to take his order he smiles sheepishly and introduces himself:

"Hi, Baby," he coos in his sweetest and most flirtatious voice.

I don't know who was more shocked and amused, the 16 year old stick or Mom and Dad. I quickly grilled the Dad, did he teach him this behavior? The Dad quips back, I only wish I had.

How does the word baby, which we've only every used to describe a child smaller than himself, suddenly become descriptive of a cute cheerleader? It led me to one conclusion, some behavior is just innate. That or I'm now paying for all the Sex in the City I watched when he was a baby.

Hit me baby one more time.

I held my breath as the Captain returned to school this week, hoping upon hope that his new fabulous behavioral idiosyncrasies (euphemism for bad toddler, no cookie) would stay closeted. Day one was perfecto. Day two he apparently whacked another kid. He followed it up today by knocking over my neighbor's 1 year old. Who knows what deviant behavior lies ahead.

And so I'm sure I can add this to the parent-teacher itinerary for the spring. I know that this is really typical tot behavior, but I'm also convinced that this is all coming out as an homage to his frustration with his Mediocre Mama.

I generally feel useless in the disciplinary department right now. Since I can't lift him I can't throw him in time out. And what's worse is that he's learned to work the system. It used to be that when he was bad he was only eligible for parole by promising to be a "good boy." Those words were the height of humiliation to him so if I managed to drag them out I knew it was lesson learned. Well, he has since learned the lesson...the lesson that the words "good boy" get you out of a punishment. So that effectively went out the window. Next, we moved the lesson to the word "sorry." At first he resisted this one, too. It didn't take long, but now he puts on the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen and loudly declares, "Sorry, Mommy," "Sorry, Daddy," "Sorry, Doggy." He may even give a kiss or a hug to boot. This is generally followed by returning to the horrible behavior within mere seconds.

So without an arsenal of physical punishments I can impose, the verbal punishments have become somewhat useless. Truthfully, he's just too smart for me and has become the master of verbal manipulations himself; I'm once again losing my edge. There's something almost sinister and adult about how he does it, too. And it all comes down to this - my Kid can manage to get us to fork over a cookie like no other. I'm sure you'll think we're pushovers, but I assure you that we are not the only ones to fall victim. He's just too darn good at it.

It goes something like this:

Captain Kid - I want cookie.

Me - You want a cookie?

CK - Cookie? Okay!

Basically, he brings up the item he desires (generally in a somewhat garbled voice so that you have to confirm what he's saying), gets you to repeat it, and then pretends it was your idea all along. Like, what a nice thought, eating a cookie. I'll do it Mom!

Okay, he's either aiming to be a politician or a lawyer because I've never seen a kid his age twist words like this. But I figure if he's capable of doing this at the tender age of 2 that the Dad and I are ultimately screwed; I think in the game of terrible 2's we're losing 2-0. And I'm beginning to think that all I've got left over him is spelling words to the Deviant Dad (is it time to give him a B-A-T-H?). But what with the fact that he's going to this fancy school and all, I'm sure they're bound to teach him to read any day now and then I'm totally fucked.

Hopefully my back will improve soon so that I will once again be able to grab him and throw him in his room against his will as a punishment. But for the moment, the back situation is going nowhere. My doctor put me on 3 more weeks of bed rest (major thanks to all those who've e-mailed, dropped by, sent-food). Until I am well, all I can do is try to rationalize with him. Why do I think I'd have an easier time getting Britney into rehab?

Emily Post, eat your heart out...with a dull spoon.

Last weekend the G'parents threw the Captain a little birthday partay on account of his upcoming 2nd birthday. It was fun, though he was more interested in playing in the swing than anything else and I daresay he was afraid of his birthday cake. No, really, he swatted at it, got a handful of icing, and then was horrified at the idea of eating it.

So being that I am returning to the workforce in less than 2 weeks, I decided to be on top of things and get my thank you notes out immediately, seeing as how I'm notoriously mediocre at sending out thank you notes. I pull apart Deviant Dad's still yet-to-be unpacked office, find thank you cards, address labels and...10 thank you notes for the Captain's BIRTH 2 years ago that I handed to Deviant Dad to be addressed, which, obviously, are still waiting to be addressed.

The whole thing was just so sad. They were filled out and stamped as of 2 postage price changes ago. So now I'm faced with the prospect of sending 10 sheepish mea culpas out to various friends and family. Yes, I know what you are going to say, why not make the Dad do it? Ummm, please reference previous paragraph for more information on why that's never going to happen!!!

And as a sidebar, Captain Kid's speech is developing by leaps and bounds. Baby's first swear word? Bastard. Awww. Thank you Fat Bastard for making it happen.