The Secret Diary of a 20 Month Old (Part 25)

MONDAY

The big people need to understand that just because I’ve got shit in my pants doesn’t mean I need changing. The smell might be horrible but I honestly don’t mind. Plus I’m closer to the source so if anyone should be able to veto a nappy change it should be me.

TUESDAY

Went to the park but they wouldn’t let me off those stupid reins. Kept telling me it was just my special ‘Big Boy Bag’ I had to wear. What kind of bag has a big fuck-off lead attached to it? I’m not stupid you know. And anyway, I only wanted to run down the hill and across the busy road so I could dive in the lake. It’s perfectly safe. I saw a little dog in the same position who looked equally pissed off. We shared a moment but then he licked my head and I started crying.

WEDNESDAY

Spent most of today whining. Not about anything in particular, just toddler stuff. Annoyed myself in the end. Whined even more. It’s a vicious circle.

THURSDAY

More glittery stuff keeps appearing round the house. Tacky as fuck. These people have no class. Even some of the shite on the fridge that I drew looks better. (I’m talking about the stuff I did last year, obviously. Some of my latest crayon etchings are really pushing the artistic envelope IMHO.)

FRIDAY

Loving doors at the moment. Closing, opening, walking through, twatting my head. They’re great! Opening and closing for ages is my favourite. Wanted to do it in the car but they wouldn’t let me. Something about ‘being on the motorway’ whatever that is.

SATURDAY

Full on Tantrum today. Oh my word, I went bananas! Rolling round the floor, kicking the cupboards, waving my arms. At one point I had so many snotty tears in my mouth I could barely breathe! Quite exhilarating. And I stand by my decision to lose it for a full hour. I told them I didn’t want to do a jigsaw.

SUNDAY

Slipped on a noisy book today and really hurt myself. Lay in a heap on the floor crying and the bastard thing was trash-talking me. Totally humiliated. Waited till later on and then ripped the gobby thing to pieces. It was still talking as I dismantled it piece by piece. Probably begging for mercy. Knobhead.

(I post a new 'Secret Diary' to my FB page every Tuesday...I'm a stand up comic and dad to toddler twins...)

Comments

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...

Sam Avery

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