Skip to main content

The Secret Diary of an 8 Month Old (Part 10)

MONDAY
I've decided to stop laughing from now on. Whatever I laugh at just gets repeated and repeated by the big people until it's ruined and not funny at all about 5 minutes later. Its a shame and I'll miss it but this has to be done.

TUESDAY
Spent half the day just smiling inwardly until one of the big people sneezed and I lost the plot. Sneezes are so funny.

WEDNESDAY
Got another tooth through. It's getting ridiculous now. At this rate I'll have more teeth than fingers.

THURSDAY
Nailed a few new moves on the wriggle mat this morning. Lifted my head right up which felt good but then dropped it to the mat which really bloody hurt. Cried. Tried it again. Cried again.

FRIDAY
Discovered a new game called 'Grab The Glasses' today. Loads of fun. Reckon I could go professional one day. Big people lose their minds so I know I'm good.

SATURDAY
Big people annoyed me this morning. Was trying to cough and swallow my milk at the same time but they took my bottle away. Obviously multi-tasking isn't encouraged in this house.

SUNDAY
They put a tree in the lounge today. What is going on? A tree! In the lounge! Big people are totally weird.

Comments

marta said…
Your wedding is supposed to be the most important day in a your life, and yet for many, just getting there in one piece is harder than fitting stilettos on an elephant. Why is it so difficult? The biggest problem is stress and how the interplay of all the different participants at your wedding adds or subtract from that stress.

Popular posts from this blog

The Time I Smeared Shit on the Duvet

My wife and I developed our parenting systems through trial and error. One of the earliest rules we’d introduced was that if it was after 5am and one of the babies became unsettled, we wouldn’t waste our time trying to get them back down in their cot - we’d just bring them in with us. After a nice cuddle in our bed, they’d normally settle back down, barring the occasional impromptu fanny gouge or affable bollock kick. (Babies are the most violent sleepers on the planet, easily capable of committing GBH in the middle of reaching for their dummy.) Our twins were six months old. I was fast asleep. At least, the deepest sleep you can get once your kids arrive. My pre-kids sleep used to be the nocturnal equivalent of deep sea diving. Nowadays I’m lucky if I can submerge my toes in a puddle. Early on, my sleep was lighter than a Ryvita biscuit who’d been having it off with a helium canister they’d met on Tinder. Everything woke me up. Some nights I’d just lie there, bewi...

The Time I Got Sent to the Naughty Step

The naughty step is only as powerful as the child allows it to be. I once sent my son there and 20 seconds later he came racing through the living room on his fucking bike. I briefly tried to return him to his pleasantly carpeted penitentiary but I was far too busy giggling. On another occasion, my lad wouldn’t go to bed and instead plonked himself down on the bottom of the stairs in defiance. I started to threaten him with a trip to the dreaded step of naughtiness. ‘IF YOU DON’T GET TO BED RIGHT NOW, I’ll, erm….’ I tailed off as I realised he was already sitting on the effing naughty step and my threat now made less sense than Welsh hip-hop. I could see on his little face, he’d worked this out too. He threw me a smirk that said, ‘You’ll do what, knobhead?’ I felt it crucial not to back down. So I continued: ‘I’LL PUT YOU ON THE NAUGHTY STEP, YOUNG MAN!’ ‘But I’m already on it!’ he snorted. My brain turned to scrambled egg. ‘WELL THEN!’ I had nothing. Bu...

The Time I Screamed at my Kids

Before my kids arrived I swore I’d never shout at them. But choosing how to approach parenthood before your kids are born is like a caterpillar deciding what kind of butterfly they’re gonna be while they’re still building the cocoon. ‘I’ll still do loads of charity work, of course. And I’ll be REALLY nice to moths too, even though they’ll probably hate me because I’ll be so bloody gorgeous.’ Theory and reality are like sugar and shit. I’ve raised my voice to my kids more times than I can count. Often just to shout ‘STOP SHOUTING!’ which I’m aware doesn’t set a great example. ‘You should NEVER shout at your kids.’ And that’s fine. In theory. Because everything’s fine in theory. The Slimfast diet is a piece of piss until day two when you’ve had three hours sleep and someone offers you a Wagon Wheel. Of course, I never WANT to shout at them. I love them more than words can describe. But those you love are also the ones blessed with the innate ability to boil your piss q...