The Secret Diary of a 21 Month Old (Part 29)

MONDAY

Pissed on my favourite book today. Saw the dog doing it once and figured it’s the best way to stop other people reading it. Totally worked as Mummy threw it in the bin. Problem solved.

TUESDAY

Cried because my favourite book wasn’t on the shelf. Forgot I pissed on it yesterday. Tried rooting through the bin. Daddy stopped me. Held onto the bin for ages while he tried to pull me away. When that didn’t work he used a friendly, logical, convincing and sensible reason for why I should let go. I held on tighter. Ha! Not gonna fall for that rubbish again.

WEDNESDAY

Went to a party but cried till we left early. Laughed all the way home. Nobody else joined in.

THURSDAY

Big people seemed confused why I was grumpy this morning. I'd like to see what mood you'd be in if you woke up in a puddle of your own piss.

FRIDAY

Had SIX absolute meltdowns today. Two at breakfast, three at lunch and two in the car. Is that seven? Okay, I had SEVEN absolute meltdowns today. Oh and one just before bedtime. So, eight – EIGHT meltdowns. And one in the bath. Crap, that’s nine isn’t it? Or ten if you count when someone stole my crayon in playgroup and I cried so hard I nearly swallowed my own head. Tell you what, let’s call it fifteen to be on the safe side - I had FIFTEEN massive, all-out meltdowns today.

Other than that I was in top form.

SATURDAY

Need to sort my life out. Tried to grab the actual poo from my nappy today. What the fuck is wrong with me?!

SUNDAY

Had a bad dream last night that I was an actual big person. Christ, it was horrible. I had loads to do and no time to do it. And I looked terrible.

(I post a new 'Secret Diary' to my FB page every Tuesday...I'm a stand up comic and dad to toddler twins and you can find my parent blog on my website...or follow me on Twitter or Instagram.)

Comments

prattcarla said…

dear,
all mens/womens
I read your blog, its really awesome,
I have also a site related to you.
There are many things that each home needs that people will often neglect. Cleaning is one of those things.

janitorial cleaning services

Your regards
Carla Pratt

16 March 2017 at 14:02

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

Search This Blog