Clark, that's the gift that keeps on giving the whole year

At this point I would welcome a jelly of the month membership.

Admit it. Whoever gave me this gift come forward and admit now. Come on! I know someone did. I mean Toddler Possession is all the latest rage right? And believe me having a kid whose body houses the King Of All That is Unholy is truly the gift that keeps on giving the whole year.
And since my little angel couldn't possibly want to be evil all on his own, I'm sure some well meaning person signed us up thinking, "Oh the Booms' will absolutely LOVE this!"

Well we don't! As a matter of fact it completely freaking sucks. And it didn't come with a red bow or a fancy foil tag with our names scrolled on it. It just showed up one morning last week and has NOT GONE AWAY YET!

And it is our gift alone, because do you think that he throws himself on the floor, flinging snot and tears all over the his daycare provider's house? No! We get little pieces of paper every day with the word HAPPY circled on it and little notes that he made a bird feeder today and doesn't eat mashed potatoes. Nothing on there says, "Today he projected the image of Satan onto the wall and then threatened to eat our dog!" or "after his eyes rolled back in his head, he spoke in tongues and revealed the date of the Apocalypse!"

Every day I come home and read the note and think today is the day that we have broken the spell and then mere seconds later his head spins and he growls, "come join us, Mama! We all float down here!"

In between the sessions of demonic inhabitance, I see glimpses of my sweet faced, little boy who hugs my head and gives me sweet, sweet kisses. I look at him and know I am blessed for having such a beautiful, healthy boy and then he utters something in a language that I can only guess you have to be 18 months old to fully understand and the second I look confused and don't immediately hand him the very thing he just told me he needs or his head will explode he then, actually explodes into a writhing, snot-flinging, back-arching, floor-kicking hell beast. Complete with kung fu action.

Last week I went to the doctor to discuss how my meds aren't touch my anxiety and when the doctor asked me if I've been under more stress recently, I just looked at him blankly. Because honestly? Wouldn't it be his duty as a physician to call mental health services if I let on for one moment that I thought demons lived within the chubby face of Crazyman?

So you'll have to excuse me. I just crawled out of the rocking myself to sleep in the fetal position long enough to write this post to tell the world that I'm alive, I just can't come to the phone right now because His Darkness has made me His Bitch.