I’m being stalked by an inanimate object, y’all.
The stalker’s name? Thomas the Tank Engine.
This little blue engine has it out for me. I just know it.
Joshua? Loves Thomas. Loves, I tell you. He screams for Thomas in the bathtub. He tries to sneak him into the crib. We cannot leave the house without this train. The little metal train goes everywhere he does.
If that were the jist of this stalking, I’d be A-okay. But no. It’s worse than that.
Thomas has infiltrated my television.
Do you know how many different Thomas movies there are? 2903849202034 give or take a few dozen. And? They are all streamed via Netflix directly into my house. And that’s where the problem comes in.
Joshua says “WAH THO-MA!” so I turn on the train. Five minutes in, the toddler is whining “No Thoma.” But he doesn’t mean “Hey, Mom. I’m totally over this train. Let’s move on to something better. Like whatever YOU want to watch.”
“No Thoma” is code for “FIGURE OUT WHICH OF THESE MILLION THOMAS VIDEOS I WANT TO WATCH OR I WILL STAB YOU IN THE EARS WITH MY LETHAL TODDLER CRIES! AND I’LL JUST GO AHEAD AND WARN YOU I PROBABLY WANT TO WATCH THE ONE WITH THE REALLY OBSCURE TRAIN NAMED SKARLOEY WHO IS NOT NEARLY AS IMPORTANT AS THOMAS BUT FIND HIM NOW.”
So I change the Thomas video. And he’s all “THO-MA!” ::HAPPYFACE::
Until 5 minutes later when he’s all “no, No, NO THOMA!” ::SADFACE::
I wonder what the headlines are going to say when this train finally breaks me.