The Secret Diary of a 9 Month Old (Part 13)

MONDAY
Woke up last night to see one of the big people just staring at me. They seemed shocked to see me though God knows why. Then they dived on the floor so I couldn't see them but I knew they were still there as I could clearly hear them giggling. They're so immature.

TUESDAY
Dribbled so much it ended up in my eye. Sometimes I really do disgust myself.

WEDNESDAY
Was having a great nap on the sofa when they tried to move me to the cot. Screamed the house down. Who naps in a cot? Ridiculous. Even though I was tired I refused to sleep out of principle. You've got to make a stand against this sort of thing.

THURSDAY
Spent the whole day whining and shaking my hands about for no particular reason. Great times.

FRIDAY
Got like, fifteen new presents today! Was a bit overwhelmed to be honest. Didn't know what to do with myself so just stared at everyone. Next time I hope they give me more of the paper it came in. Tasty.

SATURDAY
2016 is gonna be a big year for me so decided to make some New Year's resolutions:

1. I will make a conscious effort to try new foods with an open mind and open mouth.

2. I will finally get fit by learning to roll over and maybe even crawl.

3. I will stop pooing in the bath unless it's absolutely necessary.

SUNDAY
Pooed in the bath. It wasn't necessary. Will start again tomorrow.

I'm a stand up comic and dad to twins. You can follow my blog on Facebook by clicking here.

Comments

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

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

Sam Avery

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