Right, so how does this thing work? I think Daddy just pushes these little things
and then stuff happens and Mummy laughs, although I’m not really sure she’s
meant to because then she generally says,
“Ooppss, shouldn’t laugh, but why does your daddy never
finish a sentence, what are all these commas doing?”
I don’t really know what Mummy means, I think a comma is the
little dinosaur claw looking thing at the bottom there but I’m not really sure
what it does (much like Daddy, is what I think Mummy would say). It looks good though so I’m going to use it
too.
I’m not really here to talk about commas though, what I want
to talk to you about is something I’ve discovered that I think needs to be
shared with everyone. You see all my
life I have been fobbed off with milk.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love milk.
A lot. I will make all sorts of
fuss for milk. I have been known to cry
very loudly if I think that I might not be getting my allotted feeds. And I do keep a record of that. I have tried negotiating for a feed on the
hour every hour but Mummy and Daddy don’t seem to think that’s appropriate,
something about “not really needing it”, and “must be full”. They’ll come round one of these days.
At least the feeding was regular, and calming, and always
milky. But then things began to
change. I turned 6 months a week ago
which apparently means I am now a man and can do manly things. It must be some sort of rite of passage
because suddenly my whole world has changed.
Mummy and Daddy went out and bought a big chair a while ago. Although to say that Daddy bought it is a bit
of an over-estimation, he just seemed to stand and chuckle at something while
N, my big sister, rampaged around on some sort of trolley. He may have mentioned it already?
I didn’t know why they would want a white plastic chair with
some form of wipeable surface for someone to sit in. They all seem fairly capable of eating
without splattering stuff all over their chairs. Clearly it was just another in a long line of
foolish purchases, but they won’t listen to me, they just babble the same
noises back at me like it’s clever. So
frustrating. But then, we got home, the
chair was assembled with masterful competence by Daddy (I think he’d like me to
say that) and I found myself sitting like a king in his throne 3 feet from the
ground. This was more like it, sitting
in my appropriate place. Then everyone
proceeded to eat something that wasn’t milk.
I had known, of course, before, that they would sit around the big table
and eat, but I was always so far down that I couldn’t tell what it was, so I
presumed it was just milk. But this
wasn’t milk, it looked hard, and pink, and orange and green and other colours I
don’t think food really should be. But
they were all sitting and eating it whilst I had to sit in my white throne and
watch. I did not like that, so I told
them. And for once they listened. Because one day soon after I was put in my
chair, pulled up to the table and presented with something that wasn’t milk but
it seemed that Mummy and Daddy wanted me to eat it. What else was I to do? I let them put the spoon thing in my mouth
and sucked.
It was amazing. Maybe
not at first, it wasn’t milk, or very wet, and it tasted a bit funny, but it
wasn’t long before I realised it was actually tasty. And it kept coming. Day after day more stuff is put in front of
me, sometimes the same, sometimes not very nice (please tell me people don’t
eat the curvy long yellow fruit thing in real life, yuck) but sometimes,
sometimes I get something that is incredible.
Like the other day when we went out and Mummy gave me something she
called pearbrocollipeas. I don’t know
what sort of thing pearbrocollipeas is but I think I could eat that all day
every day. Mummy began to get a bit
worried I think when I had munched my way through almost an entire carton, but
she got the message when I growled at her when it looked like she was going to
stop.
So, when you get fed up of milk, don’t worry, because just
around the corner is a massive white chair and a little blue spoon, and as much
food as you can eat. Nom nom nom.
My little boy is 2...he keeps asking to go to work with Daddy and has been told when he's a big boy he can. So when he was congratulated for sitting on the potty the other day (just sitting, it's been a battle to get that far!) he was told "well done, what a big boy!" He immediately jumped up and shouted, "Can I go to work now?!"
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