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.


Hope you like it!


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.


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.


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.


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.


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!


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.


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.


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!

The 30 Secret Signals Of The Rebel Toddler Squad

Hello all. I am writing this from my top secret, super hidden safety bunker. After discovering what I am about to tell you about, I figured that the best option was to get the hell out. I’d let you come and join me, but you know I’m just not that good at sharing.

Hang on, I’ll draw you a map.

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Nah! This shit is mine!

OK, let me tell you about what happened the other day. I was walking down the street with the kids when we passed some equally kid type people coming the other way.

So far, so normal.

But when this very angelic looking blonde toddler passed my girls, she casually waved her hand at them. Nothing to write about, I hear you cry?

Man, you guys are naive. Luckily, you’ve got me to work these things out for you.

You see, this girl wasn’t just saying hello. She was signalling to them.

It’s ok, I can see what you’re saying. I’m overthinking this, right?

Wrong! Because you see, after I discovered this I started doing some research. I have a found out that these demonic hellbeasts we call our ‘beloved children,’ have a whole language of their own, that they usually solely to fuck with us.

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Woman I can hold a crotch oak… I mean cockroach, without even flinching. What makes you think I can’t mess you right up?

I mean, realistically, what else would they use it for?

Believe me or not, it’s your neck on the line <shrugs> I took tremendous risks to get this to you, so you’d better bloody appreciate it. Now read!

Here are the first thirty signals. I’m sure there are more, but a girl’s gotta eat, you know? Plus toddlers are super fucking scary to work with.

1. Ear tug – Insist you’re a rabbit and only answer to the name Ralph. Refuse to eat carrots in any form.

2. Foot tap – Make like a rock.

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3. Nose scratch – Hold your breath when your mum comes to check you at night. Wait until she panics and pokes you. Then wake up, crying indignantly.

4. High five – Dress like this. All day.

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5. Head shake – Learn how to do a forward roll. Do it straight off the couch. (Bonus points if you bite your tongue.)

6. Bum wiggle – Shit yourself. Do it now!

7. Wave – help your mum to get you ready for bed. Ensure all help is decidedly unhelpful.

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8. Blow raspberry – Only accept a drink from the pink cup. No, the blue cup! The yellow! GREEN!!

9. Finger click – Glare at your mother all day long. Refuse to explain why.

10. Hop – Respond to every question with the word ‘poop.’ Unless it’s relevant.

11. Finger in nose – Lick that wall. Right there. Don’t avoid the green bit.

12. Teddy drop – Drop your teddy. Preferably into that slightly questionable puddle over there.

13. Clap – Splash so much in the shower that your mum slips on the wet floor and falls into the bath. Then howl because she hurt your little toe.

14. Smile – Ask for your most favourite food for dinner. Then throw it on the floor.

15. Nose wiggle – Make every nonsense babble noise you make sound like those words your mum mutters under her breath when she’s having a bad day.

16. Jump – Cry until she lets you sleep in her bed. Sleep with your arse on her pillow.

17. Offer food – Hide this food in the couch cushions until it gets all sticky and gross. Then eat it. Scream blue murder when she tries to take it off you.

18. Ballerina pose – Spill your drink everywhere. Unless it’s water. Because what’s the fucking point in that?

Fuck this H2O bullshit!

Fuck this H2O bullshit!

19. Lick arm – Stand on literally anything shaped like a cylinder. Blame your mother when you fall off.

20. Arm flap – Check to see if you’ve mastered the art of flight yet. Preferably from a height.

21. Skip – Hone your abseiling skills. Using the curtains.

22. Trip over – Trip over, right now! Don’t use your hands to save yourself.

23. Jazz hands – Open one side of your nappy. Now wee!

24. Runny nose – Wait until two days before your birthday. Get sick.

25. Wiggle toes – Discard one shoe. Repeat until your mother turns a fetching shade of purple.

26. Finger point – Behave responsibly with your new scissors for two whole weeks. Then hack off a couple of clumps of hair.

27. Knee tap – Ask to play with play dough. Make a penis and insist on it being displayed on the mantelpiece. Forever.

28. Head scratch – Put a bead up your nose. Try to get it out but succeed only in pushing it further up. Don’t tell anyone.

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29. Wink – Refuse to go to sleep for at least two hours. Wait until your mum’s eyes drift shut in a haze of exhaustion. SCREAM!

30. Teeth baring – Vomit in a giant pile behind your toy kitchen. Deny all knowledge.

Who knew? There we were, assuming that our toddlers were either pissing about, procrastinating or just being plain annoying. And it turns out that we were actually completely right! But what makes it worse is that they’re doing it together.

Betcha glad that I told you now, aren’t you?

Now to get to my bunker, you need to make a left at… ah fuck it.

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It’s top secret for a reason!

Over and out.

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…


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.

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.


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.


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.

I Would Do Anything For Love…

Ah, Meat Loaf. My dad is a massive fan, and I grew up listening to his songs. In fact, I even went to see him in concert when I was about 38 weeks pregnant with Big Girl.

Yes, he was awesome.

This post has been inspired by the songs of Meatloaf. Or more specifically, this one song:

For years people have pondered what, exactly, Meat Loaf won’t do. Well folks, I think I’ve finally got it!


I have no fucking idea what he is on about. But the song got me to thinking. I love my kids. Like, a lot. And if asked, I would say that I would do anything for them.

But would I? I’m not so sure.

I’ve had a bit of a think about what I really would do for my children. And I’ve come up with a little list. It’s not exhaustive, there’s probably loads more soppy, arduous or frankly revolting things I would be willing to subject myself to for the greater good. Thinking of all of them would get a bit tiresome though, so I’ve quit at ten.

Here goes!

1. I would wear your hairband on my oversized head because I accidentally put it in the dryer and now it’s gone a funny shape. I’m doing it right now. My skull feels as if it is being slowly crushed, and every time I take the band off to check, it’s still the same shape! But hey, it’s the thought that counts.



2. I would do number 1 on this list secretly, when you’re in bed, so you didn’t realise that your hairband had been grievously harmed. And I wouldn’t  just be doing it because I didn’t want to see the sad puppy dog eyes, or so I didn’t have to listen to your tearful reproaches. I would be doing it to prevent you from experiencing the pain of a warped hair accessory.


3. I would kiss your butt better if you hurt it while playing. Preferably clothed, but I know that is a big ask in our house. In return, you would avoid farting at the crucial moment.

Fair’s fair?

4. I would let you throw up on me. Even on my freshly washed, extra comfortable pyjamas. And I wouldn’t even sigh.

Well, maybe a bit.

Could you not have held it in? Or at least done it on a surface that it is actually possible to wipe clean?



5. I would trace our steps for ages so you could find the stone that you dropped. Even if the stone that you finally pounce on is clearly not the one you originally lost.

Not every time, like. Just when I’m feeling particularly magnanimous.

6. I would spend ten minutes copying the dance you were doing, at your request. Even if that dance had absolutely no direction, and involved me contorting my body in ways it spent the next three days objecting to. Even if it was choreographed to a song by One Direction <shudder>

Motherlove, innit?

7. I would kiss you before bed. And that bear. And the pony. And that bear too. And that hairy spider thing… Wait, what the fuck is that?


8. I would listen to every joke you told. Even though you only know two jokes, and frequently mix up the two so the punchline makes absolutely no sense.

I wouldn’t just listen, either. I’d laugh, too. ‘Cause I’m great like that.

9. I would sit patiently as you daydreamt your way through an “incredibly important, need to tell you right now!” story. I would nod at the right bits, and smile as you paused, sniffed, wiped your nose on your sleeve, and generally forgot what the fuck you were on about.

And despite great temptation, I would resist the urge to say, “Just spit it out, for God’s sake!” And I would also resist the urge to do a little bit of daydreaming myself.

Not because I’m a super mum or anything, just because they always notice the very second I switch off.

Damn kids.

10. This last one is just for Squeak. I would breastfeed you in a dress. Specifically, a dress which can only provide chest access through a zip under my arm.

In public.

I will not discuss how this reflects on the flexibility of my breasts. Even though I was a little bit impressed with success of my venture.

Ok, a lot.


So there you go kids, I would do anything for love. But (and it’s a big but*) I won’t do that.

That’s right. From the plethora of things I have identified that I would do, there is one that is never going to happen.

Nope, never. Not. Ever.

And this is it:

I would not eat your chewed up food. Not even if you selected it carefully from your ever increasing pile of tasted and rejected foodstuffs. No, not even if you did those eyes. Do I look like a fucking baby bird to you?


Just gross.

*No, not my big butt. God, you guys are so infantile.

6 Reasons Why Little Girl Is Kickass

I’m not gonna lie. My kids are awesome. Super awesome. I may have mentioned that before?


Today, I’m focussing on Little Girl. She is, in my opinion, the most kickass out of the three. Here are a few of the reasons why.

1. She laughs in the face of social convention

Little Girl isn’t one to try to please other people. It’s as simple as that.

I’m willing to cut her a bit of slack. I mean, she is only 3. I’d be impressed if I met a preschooler who was au fait with the many subtleties of communicating with others.

But Little Girl doesn’t just not try.

She takes the entire concept, and craps all over it.

Big Girl has always been very sociable. As a toddler she would smile and chat to adults in shops and children at the park. She was just really friendly.

Little Girl is too. But on her terms only. And with a level of inconsistency that leaves people guessing.

Take the lollipop man at school, for instance. The girls absolutely adore him. They call him ‘Mr. Morning,’ and can’t cross the road without giving him a hug and a high five.

It wasn’t always this way, though.

Little Girl has been through some troubling times in her relationship with Mr. Morning. When she first met him, she was in her ‘trust no one’ phase. Again, fairly reasonable, given she was only 18 months old. Big Girl would run across the road, greeting him with the enthusiasm only a small child can summon up at 8.40 am. Little Girl, however, used the most effective tool in her, admittedly limited arsenal.

She glared.


Like, Paddington Bear style.

If you’ve never seen Little Girl glare, then you could be mistaken for thinking this was pretty small beans. A toddler, glaring? Ha. The only thing that could possibly be is cute as hell.

You are wrong.

When Little Girl glares, she isn’t just frowning. No, she’s channeling the fires of Hell into her eyes and forcing them out. Right in your face.

After a few months, she decided he was in favour again. And it lasted for a short while until a terrible thing happened. She tripped over, next to him. Four months of glaring followed.

She likes him again now, but for how long? No one knows.

It’s not just him, either. We often walk to school with my friend and her children, who Little Girl has known since she was born. Every day they exchange cuddles and kisses and then skip along the street together.

Until one day, when my friend’s little boy held out his arms as usual. Little Girl recoiled, frowned, and said, “I don’t like you.”


In the most cutting voice she could manage. Poor kid was crushed.

The next time, she was full of smiles and cuddles again. Apparently, she likes to keep people on their toes.

2. She will sacrifice herself for the sake of winning

This is one that you can’t really skip in the quest for kickassery. I mean, you can’t go around just bending to a lowly parent’s will whenever they dangle a good enough carrot, can you?

Little Girl says no.

I was always glad when Big Girl timed a tantrum to coincide with a fun thing we were about to do. All I would have to say is, “Come on, it’s time to get ready for the park!” Up she would jump, the subject of her ire forgotten.

This categorically does not work with Little Girl. She doesn’t do weakness.

So she will be lying on the floor, howling because her toast is cut the wrong way, or because I won’t let her wear her shoes on the wrong feet.


But it’s cool, because we’re about to have a snack. I say, “LG, would you like something nice to eat?” I know she does. She was asking for it before the perceived maternal slight.

She says, “No.”

I say, “Shall we watch a movie?” We were about to anyway, and it is her favourite. The one she has been begging for all day. The one she was bouncing on the couch for just a few minutes ago.

She says, “No.”

One thing I often do when she is freaking out on the floor is to offer her a cuddle. By that point, her emotions are all out of control and she can’t bring herself back down on her own. I’m not ‘giving in,’ as some would think, but instead giving her a safe space where she can calm down. She needs it. I know that, she knows that. And when she does it, it works very quickly.

But usually this is how it goes:

“Hey Little Girl, come and have a cuddle.”


I can see she wants it, but there’s no way she’ll give up that easily. She’d rather scream her head off for at least another 23 minutes.

And there’s no persuading her to change her mind. Not even for sweets. She will deliberately punish herself just so she doesn’t lose the battle.

That, my friends, is determination.

3. She is fearless

In Little Girl’s life, there is no room for being scared. Unless it’s the fictitious beast that lives in the hall. Or if someone is wearing a mask. Then, she’ll totally lose her shit.

But in terms of doing stuff, there are no limitations.


Here’s an example. When she was 18 months old, she was in the kitchen with me while I made lunch. She was too small to sit on the bench, so was playing with a few toys on the floor.

Then, I heard a creaking sound. I turned to find her standing on the kitchen table.

Too small for the bench, my arse.

She didn’t stop there, though. As I gasped, she ran along the table, and straight off the end. This wasn’t by accident. She didn’t just forget to stop. She did it on purpose, with joy in her eyes.

Somehow, I caught her. I’m not sure how. And as I looked down at her, my face contorted into a grotesque panicked expression, what did she do?

She laughed.

At the park, she will clamber, monkey-like, up the things Big Girl is too cautious to try. She is frequently found upside down. And if a surface is smaller in width than her feet, then it’s irresistible.

Like my sewing machine cover. Ugh, I still shudder at that one. Somehow, she balanced on it like a champ , and no major injuries resulted.

Needless to say, parkour videos are strictly off limits. If there’s one thing she doesn’t need, it’s more ideas.

4. She has a rock-hard grip

Anyone who’s ever been to a toddler group knows that they are essentially a fight to the death, under the guise of ‘playing.’

And Little Girl comes prepared. With her hands.

One thing that toddlers do a lot is snatch. They see a kid playing with the most awesome toy ever invented, and they have to have it.

Like, right. now.

So they stomp over, grab the toy and pull.

Some kids just concede at once, and slink off, tails between their legs. Big Girl was a bit like this. After a brief squawk of dismay, she would just go and find something else to play with. But not Little Girl.DSC_0231_01

Little Girl doesn’t give up. Ever.

As the other child closes in, she activates her frown powers. And as they grab hold, her knuckles whiten and she plants her feet for stability. She ain’t letting go.

Off they go across the room, pulling and tugging and maybe engaging in a bit of screaming, if the situation warrants it. They flatten everything in their path, including the odd kid. Oops.

Little Girl’s iron grip prevails. Her face is flushed, and if you look closely, you can see that her teeth are actually gritted.

I’m trying to remember, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her lose. Not bad for a kid that can still fit in her sister’s baby clothes.

5. She has the power of cuteness

It would be pretty tricky to get one past me if she was always kicking ass and taking names. I would come to expect it, and maybe even prepare.

To Little Girl, that is intolerable.

Imagine if I was always catching her when she jumped off a high surface? Or if I pre-empted every tantrum, and resolved before it went into the danger zone? Or, God forbid, cuddled her when she was sad?


Her solution is to be suddenly and randomly cute. Her favourite method is to stop mid-sentence and smile a giant, toothy grin at me. Then she says, “I like you!”


You have to admit, that’s pretty disarming.

Of course, she usually follows it up with something unexpected. Such as licking my face.

I can see she is thinking, Ha! Weren’t ready for that, were you?

Well, no.

6. Because she is

Allow me to illustrate this one with a story.

A few weeks ago, Big Girl and Little Girl went to a birthday party with Mark. I was for an 8 year old boy, so almost every kid there was at least twice the size of Little Girl. The host was a bit worried that she would get squashed or knocked over. She asked all of the children to be very careful of her.

But that was not really necessary.

Little Girl stopped at the doorway and surveyed the room. She was all big eyes and serious face. Cautiously she entered, and walked across to the pile of toys. There, she picked up the most enormous, bright blue Nerf gun ever made. I think. Like, machine gun sized.

She lifted it up and smiled.

And shot every single person in the room.


That done, she let it fall to the floor, and left.

I think it’s clear that it’s not her that needed protecting.

Truly kickass.