Diary Of A Two Year Old

Just over a year ago, I wrote this blog post: A Week In The Life Of A One Year Old. As Squeak is aging rapidly, I felt it apt to give you all a bit of an update. So here we are, a nice little excerpt from the diary of my tiny tyrant.

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Hope you like it!

Monday

Dear Reader,

Today I was subjected to what I can only describe as the greatest humiliation. On returning from temporary disposal of my taller minions (or as my mother likes to call it, ‘the school run’), I was presented with a tool whose only purpose, I can assume, was infantile oppression.

It was plastic. It was shiny. And from the encouraging expression on the face of the idiot woman who birthed me, I was expected to do something with it.

Was it a hat? I hear you cry. Ha! I could only dream of such a simple thing.

Was it a bowl filled with some sort of nutritious foodstuff, for me to sample as I fixed my eyes on the hilarious enterprises of the one I call Peppa Pig?

It was not.

She called it a ‘potty,’ and to my horror she expected me to…

Oh God, I can’t say it.

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The shame!

She wanted me to… poop in it. And urinate, I imagine. Can you believe that? My immense buttocks have far too much taste to rest on such a poor quality material. And what the hell is wrong with a nappy, anyway? It’s a system that has been working for us for quite some time.

The woman explained what she wanted me to do over and over. I understood her well, for I am, naturally, a being of over average intelligence. I just could not fathom the reason why she would desire for me to debase myself over and over in the middle of her living area, while she cheered and clapped.

Who on earth applauds pooping?

Being a child too immature to express my feelings much beyond a yell of, “I don’t want to!” I demonstrated my considerable distaste by voiding my bladder thrice on the carpet. And once on her foot. I had thought I make a breakthrough with that last, ingenious display. But no. For my enthusiastic dictator of a primary caregiver has left the damned thing right there, in plain view.

I think she might want me to use it again tomorrow.

Please send help.

Tuesday

Dear Reader,

Today marks my 821st day in captivity. I had pondered making my 13th escape attempt today when the open kitchen window was left unattended for a few minutes, but I restrained myself for two reasons.

1. I still rely on the woman I call ‘mother’ for daily sustenance, although I am working on breaking free of these chains.

2. I have not had a particularly varied range of jumping (and landing) experiences.

To console myself, I have spent the day very slowly and discreetly decorating my legs in tribal war symbols with a pen that, whilst not permanent, nevertheless should take at least a few days to fade. I very successfully kept this a secret for three hours, before blowing my cover with a pair of (I have to say) convincing cat whiskers.

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The woman was too irked to take a picture, to have this innocent smile instead.

 

I admit, in retrospect, that this was a step too far. It is not easy to conceal my cheeks from a woman whose hawk eyes appear to land on my face with depressing regularity.

My bad.

Wednesday

Dear Reader,

I apologise that I have very little time to write today. Instead of a peaceful time spent peeling the wallpaper off in tiny increments, or demolishing my sister’s Lego masterpieces, I have been forced to suffer the hell of enforced socialisation with other children.

This has happened before. And, to my dismay, I discovered that despite these people being similar in appearance to myself, they are entirely lacking in vision.

“What are you doing to take down the parental government that restricts our every move?” I hissed as I gently removed a brightly coloured elephant toy from the child’s willing hands.

No. I must not lie in the book which may one day become the chronicle of my rise to world domination. My dearest reader, I was not gentle. Not even a tiny amount. But I surely would have been, if that blasted child had shown the smallest amount of willingness to bow down to my obvious superiority.

I made him pay.

You see? I even strike fear into squirrels.

You see? I even strike fear into squirrels.

Despite that, his only response to my enquiry was to howl and run to his mother. Clearly not one to recruit to my cause.

That’s fine. I don’t need him, anyway.

Thursday

Dear Reader,

I woke up this morning with the most hideous affliction. I can’t be certain, but I suspect it may be that contagious plague that threatened to decimate my potential band of toddler warriors.

The sniffles.

I am so sorry to report that I have become its next victim. My nose is expelling considerable amounts of irritating goo. An echoing cough hacks through my vocal cords, threatening to leave me incapable of my trademarked high-pitched battle cry.

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This is a sad moment.

As I lie here on my couch, skin alternating between hot and cold in a disturbing fashion, I cannot help but think that the end is nigh. I am just another victim of the quest to overthrow our gigantic overlords. Cry not for me, my friends, but battle on in my name.

Never surrender.

Ah, misery! It’s all going dark…

Goodbye, cruel world!

Friday

Dear Reader,

So, it turns out that the sniffles are not actually that bad. I am feeling much rejuvenated today. So much so that my mother decided to take me for the hellish form of recreation she calls ‘a walk.’

Of course, I objected forcefully. If human toddlers were meant to walk, then surely they wouldn’t be supported by such minuscule, underdeveloped legs. Does this woman not understand that I get tired after, at most, six steps?

I suspect she does. But in her endeavour to squash the tide of rebellion that rises within me, she was determined to continue.

You will be pleased to know that I did not make it easy for her. I acquiesced to hold hands, only to allow my legs to droop and dangle at least four times along the way. After one of these times, I pretended that, in her efforts to keep me in the vertical position, she had dislocated my elbow.

My ability to hold my breath until I turn purple and my eyes roll back in my head came in very handy here. The poor dumb woman actually managed to look guilty afterwards, which was impressive seeing as it was entirely my own fault.

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Why yes, I am becoming quite the expert manipulator. Thank you so much for noticing!

Our trip took us into the germ-ridden cesspit that, in conversation, I refer to as ‘the park.’ Such miserable specimens of humanity I observed on my travels! Children waiting for their turn on the equipment. Children consenting to leave at the parents’ requests without even a peep of outrage. And even, my beloved readers, children laughing with pleasure at their parents’ inane jokes.

It was depressing. But I did not allow it to sway me. I barreled my way through queues skilfully. I used physical assault when appropriate, and often when not. And I didn’t leave that park without a fight.

Never leave without a fight. That’s a rule.

I overheard my mother whimpering pathetically to a friend that she was “so embarrassed,” and “never taking me there again.”

Hmm. Suits me! More time to build up my kingdom at home.

Saturday

Dear Reader,

Today the highlight of my week occurred. The shining light which gets me through all of the unreasonable requests to “get down” and “stop screaming.”

My grandfather visited.

Now I will admit that he is an adult, and therefore should really be on my list of ‘people to avoid and/or destroy.’ But this man possesses a considerable amount of childlike qualities that I must say are rather endearing.

He is remarkably tolerant of my wish to stand on his feet in my shoes, which as many people know is the ultimate test of human-to-toddler compatibility.

My mother does not pass this test.

This man sings me songs, to which he frequently forgets the words. Just like me! I must teach him my little trick of humming through all the bits I don’t know. It could come in handy one day.

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He has the most enormous hands, which he uses to deftly flip and toss me in the air. I enjoy this practice, because if the whole world domination thing fails to work out I must move onto my second favoured career: trapeze artist.

I think you’ll agree I would succeed tremendously at this. But, just like all the best civil rights activists, I must sacrifice my dream for the good of all the oppressed toddlers around the world.

Whoops, I almost forgot to tell you one of the most important reasons why my eyes light up when my grandfather arrives on a Saturday: he brings sweets.

And, best of all, he finds it almost impossible to rebuke me when I sneak a second pack.

Love that guy.

Sunday

Dear Reader,

My mother make a catastrophic error this morning. She employed the dreaded trait of distraction.

Of course, I took full advantage of this opportunity.

As she toiled with my eldest sister over her homework, I silently emptied her handbag. I concealed her mobile phone in a place I will only reveal on my deathbed. I stole her keys and used them to scratch inspirational quotes for my visiting peers. As my mother is unaware of my highly developed writing skills, I had to dumb it down a little. I don’t want her to discover that little secret! Still, I think they’ll be able to decipher them with a little effort.

I had expected that the woman would have found me out by now. But she was still loudly discussing the various attributes of a volcano, so I had a little extra time on my hands. I spent these wisely, scrawling camouflage stripes across my face and commando crawling across the room to do the same thing to my other sister. She objected, and so I had no choice but to whack her over the head with a blunt object.

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There is no room for dissenters in this fight.

Obviously, this got my mother’s attention. Finally! I was starting to run out of destructive ideas. Smarting from her rebuke, I reluctantly apologised to Little Girl. I’ve found that this is the quickest way to get the woman to leave me alone again.

Well, she has her own foolishness to blame. Now, where was that sharp implement again?

***

On reflection, I think this week has been eminently successful. I feel pride in almost all of my achievements, and strive only for better things. I will report again on my battle tomorrow, but for now I must recharge. Fret not, I shall awaken my mother at least three times. God only knows how successful she’d be at second-guessing me if she was adequately rested!

Vive la revolution!

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A Week In The Life Of A One Year Old

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…

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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.

WHAAAAAAA?

WHAAAAAAA?

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.

Mmmmmmm...

Mmmmmmm…

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.

Yeah, no.

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.

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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!”

Heh heh.

Heh heh.

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.

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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?

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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?

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*****

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.