My son has been replaced by an impostor

Hello all,

This is going to make me sound crazy, I know. But I can assure you that every word you are about to read is real.

Late in the evening yesterday, I came to the frightening realization that my son, my adorable two-year-old little future Super Villain, was replaced with an impostor, a fake, a pretender. By what means? I don't know that yet. But what I put to bed last night wasn't him.

Now, I know what you're thinking, "THAt's iMpOsSiBLe!" "yOu'Re jUSt BeiNG sILLy!"

AM I?

We'll see how you feel after you have all the facts.

At first, Phony Boy's masquerade worked on me. His behavior matched the Little One's perfectly. The ruse was almost perfect. Almost.

When I picked him up from daycare, The Fraud managed to perfectly imitate my son's characteristic style of avoiding putting on his winter gear. I'm ashamed to admit it, but the flopping was so convincing I didn't catch on to his ruse quite yet.

Walking home, Fakey McGee undoubtedly knew that he would have to go through my son's ritual of trying to eat snow off the road, me telling not to, and then him putting his tongue riiight up to his glove without quite touching it with a giant shit-eating grin on his face before pulling it away as I was about to get mad. He clearly did his homework, because he then tried it a second, third, fourth, and fifth time, exactly like the real deal. This kid was good.

At dinner time, he beguiled me with a perfect imitation of my son's method of eating soup with his hands, then complaining that his hands are wet. The level of sophistication of his mockery was unmatched.

He even deceived my wife! After supper, he knew to place all of his dinosaurs in a straight line while roaring to the tune of "Oh Suzanna". We couldn't have known!

But the masquerade couldn't last forever. He made one critical blunder. When it was time to go upstairs to take his bath, I said: "REDACTED, it's time to go upstairs and take your bath." And this little con artist, this little counterfeit child, he looks me in the eye and says: "Okay."

"Okay!"

"OKAY!"

Ah HA! J'accuse! He nearly pulled off a flawless performance. Daniel Day Lewis himself couldn't have pulled off a better flim-flam. But as I watched him saunter up the stairs wordlessly and without complaint, I knew. I knew that some antient Sumerian trickster god has spirited my child away, and replaced him with some, some, Mountebank.

So, anyway, how do I make sure the original never comes back?