Skip to main content

The Secret Diary of a 3 Year Old

MONDAY
Cried in the night so ended up in the Big People’s bed. It was fun – I clawed at both their faces, head-butted Mummy and kicked Daddy in the tezzers so many times they changed shape. We were all having a great time together so to say I was disappointed when they put me back in my own bed is a massive understatement.
TUESDAY
Did a sit-down wee on the toilet. Everyone cheered. Felt like Rocky. The pulsating atmosphere in the bathroom inspired me to then push out a Herculean bum nugget as a little encore for the fans but unfortunately, despite my facial gymnastics clearly indicating I was now pressing out a chunky dog log, Daddy must have assumed I was instead trying to solve calculus or maybe complete a formidable algebra equation because the oval-bollocked fuckwitt lifted me off the bog mid-turd. He’ll never wear those slippers again and it’s all his own fault.
WEDNESDAY
Listen, Mummy - if I say I don’t like something, please accept that. Just because I liked it yesterday and may like it again tomorrow doesn’t mean I am obliged to like it today. People’s tastes change. You used to like Daddy, for instance.
THURSDAY
I’m sick of everyone assuming that just because someone is a similar age to me that we’ll instantly be bezzie mates. Sometimes we have literally nothing in common. What are we supposed to bond over? The fact we can’t control our bowel movements? Maybe we’ll hit it off with a thrilling conversation about which brand of nappies we’re sporting this season or better still, exchange dietary tips? Do me a favour.
FRIDAY
The Big People really fuck me off when they sing Wheels on the Bus in the wrong order you know. It’s a kids song, not Pulp Fiction – you can’t just mess with the narrative and expect it to still be entertaining.
SATURDAY
I think I’ve grown into a very generous person. I just love sharing stuff with other people. As long as I get it back straight away, I’ll share with absolutely anyone. Also, everyone else needs to share whatever they have with me at all times, otherwise I get very angry. And I’m not giving that stuff back. No chance. Never. Don’t even ask. I won’t.
SUNDAY
Big People keep telling me to be careful all the time. ‘Be careful near that table!’ ‘Be careful with that spoon!’ I’M A TODDLER. I am being careful. It just so happens that I don’t give a flying fuck.
LIVE UK TOUR DATES 2018/19
**MORE TO BE ANNOUNCED...JOIN MY MAILING LIST FOR FIRST ACCESS ON TICKETS**
GET MY BOOK 'CONFESSIONS OF A LEARNER PARENT': bit.ly/learnerparent

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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 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 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 ...
Post a Comment
Read more