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 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

We Have a Winner!

Ladies and gentlemen - some news! One recipient of my newsletter is now the 'lucky' (ahem) winner of an exclusive gig from me IN THEIR HOUSE! And that person is... Lyn Morter!  Well done, Lyn! (Btw, if anyone from  Ofcom  is reading, you can check the legitimacy of this result via the  Facebook Live video  I did last week.) When I informed Lyn that she'd won she simply said, 'I've never heard of you' and 'How did you get my phone number?' so I'm sure that will be a great gig for everyone. (Only joking. She was thrilled.) Thanks to all of you for entering. But what now, Sam?  I hear you screaming at your smartphones. Well, I'll be taking things a wee bit easier through August, spending some much needed time with my family after all the touring. But just like that former Governor of California of Austrian descent, I'LL BE BACK (sorry) in September with more blogs, videos and general waffle.  I'm also heading b

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