The Boy Who Would be a Vampire

Contrary to popular legend, vampires are born, not made.

I know this because I birthed one.

The Tominator has learned how to give wonderful hugs. He makes this pathetic "eh-eh" sound and reaches one hand out to me until I scoop him up off the floor. Then he wraps his chubby arms around my neck and squeezes, a big grin on his face.

Crafty little vampire that he is, he uses his close proximity to my neck to his best advantage: just as I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy from his loving snuggles, he digs his six, sharp, pointy little teeth into my neck.

We have been over the "no biting" thing time and again. He has learned not to bite the toothbrush when I brush his teeth. He has learned not to bite Mommy's er, feeding apparatuses, at mealtime.

But my neck, oh my neck, it is irresistible.

To be fair, my friend calls Tom "Sunny Baudelaire" from Lemony Snicket, because he is the child who likes to bite things. He bites the dog. He bites the dog's bone. He gnaws the rail of the pack-n-play I keep in the office. He chews paper.

At just shy of eight months, he can climb the stairs to the second floor. He does this by pushing to a stand, leaning waaaay forward and biting the stair above the one he would like to get to, then pulling himself up using his arms, feet, and teeth. I kid you not.

I can't wait until he's old enough to learn to say "I vant to suck your blood!" with a creepy accent.