Skip to main content

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

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 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 Embarrassed Myself on a Bouncy Castle

Kids love bouncy castles. And why not? They’re bouncy and unpredictable, like Kanye West on a pogo stick. But just like Calpol, crayons and eating your own bogeys, the allure of the bouncy castle tends to dissipate as we reach adulthood. I’m not someone who lists ‘castle bouncing’ as a hobby these days. My kids, on the other hand, love a good bouncy castle. The bouncier the better. The only thing they love more than a GOOD bouncy castle is a REALLY BAD bouncy castle. Especially those ones that haven’t undergone a decent risk assessment since mullets were cool. In fact, the more dubious the health and safety standards appear to a casual bystander, the more keen my kids are to dive on headfirst and find the hazards. So. We’re at a farm park. We’re enjoying the standard parental farm park experience - the kids are interested in everything EXCEPT the very farm animals that we just paid a whopping £37.50 to visit. (BTW - My son’s favourite animal at Chester Zoo was ...