Do you every wonder what’s going on in the head of your tiny, innocent-looking toddler? I do. And I’d bet good money on her thoughts being not entirely innocent. You see, that smile may be pretty cute…
But I detect a distinct glint of mischief and merriment in those wide eyes. So don’t be fooled.
Anyway, over to Squeak, for an insight into the workings of her oversized and underdeveloped brain.
Day 1 – Monday
Today I am considering serving an eviction notice to the woman I call ‘Mahmee.’ For, during an illicit keyboard-bashing and mouse-clicking incident this afternoon, I observed that she had described my brain as oversized.
I mean, yes, my head is a little big. And round. And if I look up in the sky too far, yes I do fall backwards. But still, seriously? I think it’s a little low to be judging your own baby on her appearance. Especially when, from the looks of it, I clearly inherited the enlarged cranium from her.
And that’s not my only problem. Oh no, the possessor of the breasts has engaged in many transgressions recently, that have made me think that maybe I’d be safer going it alone.
Do you wanna know some? Because it doesn’t really matter if you don’t. How are you going to tell me to stop, exactly?
Yeah, that’s what I thought. So here we go!
1. The big head thing. Like, just rude.
2. This evening she put me in my kitchen throne, and proceeded to give me what I like to call ‘shit on a plate.’ I can’t really describe what ‘shit on a plate’ actually is, because honestly it could be anything. It just depends on how the mood takes me. Sometimes it’s that green tree crap, or some kind of white, soft twirly stuff. I don’t mind the twirly stuff quite so much, because I have discovered that if I try and swallow a piece whole I make a really satisfying “Blacccchhhhhh!” sound that makes the mothership put her fork down and pat my back and all that nonsense. Ha, hungry were you, woman?!
I don’t know where she gets off, thinking she can tell me when to eat. I mean, if I’m hungry I’ll soon let her know. How? By shoving my hand down her top, obviously.
S’ok though, I told her straight. I picked that pile of ick up, and I threw it on the floor.
Get the message?
3. Brace yourself guys, this one’s a biggie. I probably should have called the police, but I don’t really know my numbers yet. So I guess I’m writing this as a bit of a cry for help. Save me!
It appears that my mother has a gang of collaborators around her. A disturbing thought, I’m sure you’ll agree. But one of them came over today, and brought this box thing with her. The family jokingly call it a ‘baby prison.’ Yeah, real fucking funny. Let’s see how much you laugh when you’re stuck in this thing, all on your own, with toys. I don’t want toys. I want wires! And small, blatantly edible toys! And tissues!
Have you ever shredded a tissue? It’s awesome. Doesn’t taste too bad, either.
I’m sure you’ll agree that I am a victim of extremely unfair treatment here. Don’t worry though. As soon as I figure out how to detach her breasts, she’s off.
Must dash. I hear footsteps on the stairs, which means she’s up on one of her paranoid ‘the baby’s slept so long, something must be wrong!’ checks.
Back to pretending to be asleep. Peace out.
Day 2 – Tuesday
It’s been a pretty standard day so far. I’ve only tripped over my own feet three times, which I’m kinda ashamed of right now. I normally aim way higher than that.
I also totally mastered planking today. I know that’s sooooo last year, but what can I say? I wasn’t exactly in control of my limbs at that time. I’m still playing catch up.
I’ve tried it on the floor. That was pretty fun. But it’s particularly amusing to employ when my mother attempts to strap me into that wheely thingy. She always does it when we have to go somewhere most urgently.
I just lock my hips and she has got no chance of getting me in the chair. Well, until she tickles me, anyway.
I’m a sucker for a tickle.
Day 3 – Friday
Today I discovered that I don’t particularly know the days of the week. Which isn’t great, when you’re writing a diary. But I’ll do my best.
I was really annoyed this morning, because that woman woke me up. I don’t think she understands just how exhausting it is to wake up over and over again, all night. If she did, I’m sure she wouldn’t be dragging me out of bed at ‘FFS, it’s still dark!’ o’clock.
I got my revenge, though. With my breakfast. I know I could have just thrown it on the floor, but frankly that’s getting a little old. So instead, I really carefully poured water all over my pieces of toast. They still looked fine, but I just knew that as soon as she picked them up to put them in the bin, they’d disintegrate into a really revolting mush.
I’d already toddled off to play by the time she did it, but by the sounds of the “Urgh!” that floated through from the kitchen, I totally nailed it.
Day 4 – Turtle
I threw up today. It was amazing. I thought I’d grown out of that whole involuntary vomming thing. It’s been ages since I last managed it, and I’ve been trying really hard.
Sadly, I missed my target slightly, and it landed on my playmat. Which is freaking washable.
For shame. I tried to fix it with a bit of finger painting, but that woman has eyes like binoculars! She clocked me within seconds, and cleaned me up with one of those baby wipes.
For God’s sake woman, it’s still glove weather out there! Warm the wipes, would you?
I have also been working on a new skill. It’s a little something I like to have up my sleeve for when shopping trips get boring. I like to sit reeeeaaaaally quietly in my pram, looking all civilised and shit. Like a statue. And then, when we pull up alongside someone who is deep in thought, trying to choose the best apples or whatever, I reanimate. I sit up straight, take a deep breath, and yell, “HAPPY BIR-DAAAAAY!”
Three people I got with that today. It. is. epic. I’m not sure, but I think the last woman might have crapped herself.
Although that could have been me.
Day 5 – Eleven
Today my food dispenser took me to a toddler group. I don’t know why the hell she thought that was such a great idea. Why would I want to spend ninety minutes fighting for the awesomest spade and trying to guess which kid farted, when I could be fiercely guarding my own toys (and smells) at home, on my own? It just doesn;t make any sense. Apparently this shit is really good for me, but I think it’s just stupid.
But still, you have to make the best of it. So I slipped over in the inevitable spill from the water table at least seven times, making the woman who runs the group feel like crap. Win! Then I spent ten minutes hiding in the dressing up clothes, just for a laugh. As a bonus, I totally found some kid’s discarded raisins in there.
At least, I think they were raisins.
For my grand finale, I dressed up as a dragon and ran into a door.
Because that’s how I roll.
Day 6 – Thursday
Do you know what’s interesting? Toilets. We’ve got one. It’s upstairs, in the room where I get assaulted by minty freshness twice a day.
I’m not 100% sure what you really do with a toilet. I have been doing some pretty detailed investigations, though. It seems like the taller folk in my house use it as some sort of chair. And they make some totally messed up noises when they’re sitting on it. Seriously messed up. Especially Big Girl.
I think there’s a waterfall in there too.
My useless mother is severely impeding my investigations right now. Because this toilet of ours has a lid. And no matter how quietly I creep over there, she always knows. I don’t want to break it or anything. And I don’t care what she says, I was not going to put the bear in there.
I was just letting him take a look. Honest!
Would this face lie?
Day 7 – Squeakday
Today I have mostly been pondering the wisdom of nappy changes. I mean, I just don’t get it. It seems like my mother is much more bothered about a full nappy than I am. I couldn’t care less, really. It’s kinda warm, and it’s a great shock absorber when I fall on my ass.
Which is a lot.
But no. The wise woman of the house insists on leaping on me (sort of), and lying me down. I am not impressed with this. Does she not know that I am busy? I have many plans and schemes to work on, which I am sure will, eventually result in world peace.
Yes, it’s that important.
So if you’re one of these parents who is disgracefully enthusiastic about baby hygiene, just give us a break, ok?
We got shit to do.
In other news, it turns out I can’t fly. Who knew?
So there you have it. A little looksee at the cranial workings of a one year old. Did it turn out how you expected? I hope so.
Because if you think that a one year old is not plotting your downfall at least 83% of the time, then you’re in trouble.
Even if you don’t have a one year old right now. Don’t think they’re going to limit their destructive capabilities to the people who share their genetics.
No one is safe.