I birthed a puppy. Or perhaps a kitten?

PX has developed a fear so ridiculous it's almost humorous: he's petrified of our vacuum.

Now when I say he's petrified of the vacuum, I don't mean just when it's running; he's afraid of it being anywhere near him even unplugged.  The little bugger dumped his Honey Comb all over the living room yet again this morning and I'm not so keen on feeling like I live in a Texas Roadhouse so out came the vacuum.  I hadn't even gotten it in the room and the scared screeching began.  Once it passed the threshold, still off and wrapped up, PX backed himself into a corner.  Oh yes, my son who will climb up onto his high chair and use it as a trampoline, the same child who'll jump off the couch given the chance, hid from the evil vacuum.  But of course, once it went on, the true terror tantrum began and PX made it worse for himself by running towards my legs.  So now there is a clear line of "nicely kept home" vs. "where's the floor?" going on in my living room.  Oy.

There's never a dull moment when a toddler is around.


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