Did I Give Birth to a Robot??

The question that itched my mind as I came upon an intriguing scene last night. Lounging in the living room absorbing the silence of the day’s end… a victorious silence, probably something akin to that following the reverbing of final gunfire in battle (cinematic battle, of course… with settling dust & a dirt-smudged weary soldier gazing across the carnage)… I sit and assess the day, do a body count.  Zero again. I bask in the relief that patience spares lives.

A quick, but faint, new sound across the house breaks the coveted silence. I wait and do that thing where you cock your head, eyes peeking upwards like you’re searching for better reception…. nothing. Peculiar… perhaps it was a fabrication of my chaotic brain. Hubby inquires in a sleepy drawl… “What was that?” … Bugger! Confirmation that it was real and I do, indeed, have to peel myself from my cozy post battle reprieve. I stumble up my menacing stairs (still sensitive to an old feud between us), mentally drawing conclusions as I see the bathroom light on and match that fact with “sore tummy”, found in my mind’s Rolodex of the day’s kid conversations . A little perplexed about the complete silence following the mysterious sound, I approach the open bathroom door.  As my unsuspecting feet are greeted by a threshold of  warm gush, the mystery sound instantly floods back into my mind…Kind of like a full pot of creamy waffle soup, should such a thing exist, cascading out onto the clean kitchen floor.

And I am standing in it.

In the bathroom I witness my seemingly mute boy, oblivious to the surrounding ruckus, dispensing one last small serving of waffle soup onto the floor, still not quite having found a container that suits his purpose. He looks down, shrugs his shoulders, and turns to leave the bathroom. Noticing the sink and an empty cup on the way out the door, he pauses, turns on the water and proceeds to drink. Paralyzed on instinctive tippy-toes in my mire of yuck, grasping the door frame for support as though I will melt into this stuff, I can only watch in awe as he operates without expression, robotic… the boy’s lights are on but ain’t nobody home.  Water still running, he places the empty cup back on the sink and turns off the light. nope… something is amiss. Light back on..hesitates… then off again. Water still running, he repeats the light switch toggling process. I’m bursting trying not to laugh, after all, my baby is sick! My little robot baby that is peering coldly right through me. Finally the right synapses fire for the brain to convey the message that the water will stop running by pushing down the tap, not the light switch. On that note, he staggers quietly past me to return to his interrupted sleep. During the entire escapade not one word or sound escaped this child… only gobs of chunky fluid.  For a boy that wails and shoots fire from his eyes (another possible robot trait, oddly enough) when rudely awakened, this has me baffled!

As I do a final tally, body count is thankfully still zero… but, gosh, that’s a whole lot of carnage.

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