Skip to main content

The Secret Diary of a 21 Month Old (Part 30)

MONDAY
Did an epic bumsquirt just as we were leaving for Grandma’s. Proper end-of-days stuff. Arse-juice everywhere. Big People got flustered because we were late. What can I say? There’s just something about putting my coat on that makes me want to shite.

TUESDAY
Got told off today for drawing a beard on the dog. What’s the problem? The dog looked great and didn’t complain once. Plus it was my best felt tip (orange) so it’s quite an assumption from the Big People to say he hated his new look. The combination of being told off plus feeling terrible for the dog missing out on a much-needed fresh image made me do a proper cry. (That one where your face scrunches up and real tears come out rather than the one where you scream and your face turns red like it has nappy rash.) Anyway, I must have looked super cute because the Big People cuddled me straight away and then weirdly, THEY apologized. Interesting, very interesting…

WEDNESDAY
Got told off again for biting Mummy. Tried to fake that real crying thing again but they saw right through it and called bullshit. I stopped 'crying' and carried on with my day. Next time I really need to commit. Or maybe I should just stop biting people?

THURSDAY
Discovered if you bash a dummy against the side of your cot for long enough the Big People show up. Handy to know if there's an emergency.

FRIDAY
Saw loads of buses in the car today. Got well excited. They’re so big and funny looking. Then we didn’t see any for ages which made me sad. Then we saw three of them all at once! Weird thing is, this always happens. When I grow up I’m going to come up with an expression to describe this regular occurrence.

SATURDAY
That music on the baby monitor is total bollocks. There’s no beat. Give me something I can move to.

SUNDAY
It’s becoming increasingly clear to me that I don’t deal with disappointment well. They wouldn’t let me play with the scissors this morning and I just lost it. Thrashing about, sobbing, whacking my head on the corner of the fridge for good measure. Could barely see through all the snot, tears and emotion. Then they tried putting my coat on and I moved effortlessly up to the next level of tantrum which was quite the thrill if I'm being honest. Cried so hard I totally forgot what I was pissed off about in the first place and let them put my coat on quite easily. Managed to calm down and then realised I had the bloody coat on which made me instantly do a poo that went on for ages. Managed to stare both of them in the eye while I squeezed it out too. It's important to share special moments with your family I think.

(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 more blogs on my website...)

Comments

Post a Comment

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...
Post a Comment
Read more

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...
Post a Comment
Read more

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...
Post a Comment
Read more