The Secret Diary of a 2 Year Old

MONDAY

Went the museum to see the dinosaurs and it was unreal how ancient and decrepid they looked but then Mummy explained we were still on the bus and it was rude to stare and point at old people.

TUESDAY

Daddy got home while I was drawing and this happened:

DADDY: That’s a brilliant picture, son. Well done.

ME: Thanks, Daddy.

DADDY: What is it?

ME: Oh for fucks sake.

WEDNESDAY

Mummy told me she ‘wasn’t my slave’ whilst simultaneously wiping the dried cack from my arse. Awful timing to make that particular point, love.

THURSDAY

You won’t read this in a self-help book but whatever you do, never start a fight with no pants on. Fucking nightmare. Was arguing with Mummy but my junk was all hanging out so it totally undermined my point. Plus it was quite nippy so with each remonstration I could feel my willie scrunching up like a baby sloth’s nose.

FRIDAY

Was busy clubbing the fridge with a spatula when Daddy told me off and asked how I’d like it if he did the same to one of my toys. I’m a toddler, mate. I couldn’t give less fucks if I was the Lord Mayor of Nofucksville.

SATURDAY

My cot is gone. In it’s place is a bed. I’m finally a big boy and I’m not gonna lie, it feels great. To celebrate I jumped onto the mattress to do a happy dance and went flying straight off the other side and into the bastard wall.

SUNDAY

Fell out of bed. Daddy put me back. Fell out again. Mummy put me back. Had a bad dream that I’d fallen out of bed. Woke up to find that I’d fallen out of bed. And pissed myself. I miss my cot.

✅ Join my mailing list for FREE and exclusive blogs and first access to live stand up dates.

📚 If you liked this you'll definitely enjoy my book 'Confessions of a Learner Parent'

✅ I'm also on Instagram.com/thelearnerparent

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

We Have a Winner!

Ladies and gentlemen - some news! One recipient of my newsletter is now the 'lucky' (ahem) winner of an exclusive gig from me IN THEIR HOUSE! And that person is... Lyn Morter! Well done, Lyn! (Btw, if anyone from Ofcom is reading, you can check the legitimacy of this result via the Facebook Live video I did last week.) When I informed Lyn that she'd won she simply said, 'I've never heard of you' and 'How did you get my phone number?' so I'm sure that will be a great gig for everyone. (Only joking. She was thrilled.) Thanks to all of you for entering. But what now, Sam? I hear you screaming at your smartphones. Well, I'll be taking things a wee bit easier through August, spending some much needed time with my family after all the touring. But just like that former Governor of California of Austrian descent, I'LL BE BACK (sorry) in September with more blogs, videos and general waffle. I'm also heading b

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

Sam Avery

Search This Blog