So, kids are creepy.

I don’t mean in an “old-uncle-want-some-candy” kind of way.

No, kids are creepy because they stare, say weird things and stare some more.

Take a few nights ago.

Monster has been having some difficulty sleeping on his own and I gladly welcomed him into our bed. As he was drifting to sleep, I heard him whispering to himself, in the softest of baby whispers, “Elmo Elmo Elmo. Turtle? Turrrrtle? Buzz. Elmo. Buzzzzz.”

He then rolled over and put his face just an inch away from mine. He took his tiny hand and patted my head softly, whispering, “Die die die.”

Then he went to sleep.

I’m not sure what Monster was trying to say when he threatened my life. I would like to think my toddler has yet to learn the art of psychological warfare. However, as soon as he fell asleep, I put him back in his room where the childproof doorknobs would surely deter any attack he was planning.

Why is he such a creeper?

Evidence B: We went shopping this weekend. As is customary, I browse clothes I can’t afford while Monster runs around wiping his peanut-buttery hands on pants, mannequins and unsuspecting customers.

As long as I can hear him babbling and running into clothes racks, I know he’s fine.

But when he gets quiet – that’s when we’re in trouble.

I remember exactly where I was in that Banana Republic when my child fell silent.

I was standing in front of a rack of overpriced dresses, gleefully considering a wrap purchase, quietly singing, “La la la la, la la la la, Elmo’s song” while listening to Monster yell “Black! Greeeeen! Green! Black!”

Then the store went eerily silent.

I scanned the clearance racks where I had last heard Monster’s shrieks, looking for evidence he was still there (read: clothes knocked from hangers and disgruntled shoppers).

When I finally found him, his back was to me. I could see he had a death grip on a pair of chinos, staring blankly at a young twenty-something waiting impatiently for his girlfriend outside the fitting room.

The guy shifted weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with this tiny person who had a laser-like death stare.

“Monster, come here bud,” I pleaded.

But there stood Monster. Knuckles white around the chinos, other hand clenching and unclenching, right foot tapping softly.

Just. Staring.

I finally got in front of my child’s face to see what was so fascinating.

Turns out Monster was on double duty – he was red-faced, softly grunting, making a dirty diaper while maintaining terrifying eye contact with the twenty-something guy.

You have never seen creepy until you lock eyes with a toddler who is in the middle of doing some serious, stinky damage.

We all left the Banana Republic feeling a little different: Monster was refreshed, I was embarrassed, David was overwhelmed.

And the young twenty-something couple was certain to avoid that store, that mall and, likely, baby-making for the rest of their lives.

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