I have yet to see the new film, but I like to imagine that Bridget Jones’ baby is rollin’ something like this. At least they will be if they are anything like my, um, toddler.
10th September 2016
Weight: About a stone, apparently (Mummy says scales not entirely accurate as keep saying she is half a stone heavier than she was yesterday?)
Calories: 800 (v.good. Mostly chips and chocolate cake. V.v.g.)
Breadsticks: 0 (v. bad)
Milky-pops: Substantial, as is Saturday (v.g.) so Mummy not at work (v.v.g.)
Well, it’s the end of a long day and I am keeping Mummy awake. Not sure what time is but maybe 9.30pm? It is weekend though, so acceptable. Busy day. This morning went swimming. Wore my new blue swim nappy with dolphins on. Looked very fetching, but slightly too big so had soggy big pants situation when exiting water, and the lady had to come into the changing rooms and mop it all up. I was v. impressive dragging the cot in the changing rooms around at the time like a big strong boy. I think she thought I was cute, although Mummy was cramping my style big time by telling me stop it and don’t go near that window blind as the whole street will see me in the nuddy getting changed out of my cozzie. Honestly, that woman is SO difficult sometimes. She’s always telling me no Piglet, don’t do that. No Piglet, not milky-pops time now, wait until bedtime, and I’m like, Piglet is not even my real name. You must treat me like sensible human being and not airhead with mind of goldfish just because I can’t speak yet.
Anyway, went home in pushchair and it was SO EMBARRASSING because other babies’ mummies and daddies all have cars and I had to look at them in their car seats swooshing on by while we walked down the street getting rained on like plebs. However, light at the end of the tunnel as got bus home and I was like, braps to all you other babies, look who has the biggest wheels now boob-suckers.
At some point I must have fallen asleep on bus, because when I woke up I was at home, still in pushchair and all my clothes, wondering how I got there. That’s what too much milky-pops does to a boy. Granny keeps saying I need to cut down and it’s about time I grew up, settled down to sleep on my own and ate proper food like all her friends’ grandchildren do. Apparently I am an embarrassment and a disgrace because little Sophie and Emily go to bed at 7pm, never bother their parents during the night and eat all their peas without throwing them on the floor, and I will never be a good boy and will still be coming home milk-drunk at thirty-five, pestering my poor mother for milky-pops.
Played for a bit and ate whole packet of Pom Bears (v.g.) although I think Mummy stole some, as she is flagrant Pom Bear stealer. Refused sandwich as on sugar and salt diet (v.g.) recommended by friend at nursery who says that if you refuse all food, eventually parents will cave and offer chips out of desperation. Is working brilliantly. So far I have seen Mummy and Granny beg, plead and almost cry with tears of frustration, so diet must be having desired effect.
This afternoon went shopping which is obviously v. boring activity, but was able to salvage some joy from the situation by grabbing passing coats and flinging on floor, and almost hitting Mummy with a flying cup in Patisserie Valerie, though was thwarted by Granny in attempts to throw china plates and bits of cutlery. Diet v. successful. Managed to eat plate of chips, steal half of Mummy’s chocolate cake and some garlic bread for a bit of vitamins, then refused entire plate of fruit (v.g.). Mummy bought me stripy top in age 3 (proud moment. Despite being only two, I am becoming big boy in big boy clothes) and was squealing in excitement about how I would look like her now. Horrified as she is perpetually covered in chocolate and bogies, which was not the look I was going for. Clearly if it was, I wouldn’t bother wiping my nose and mouth on her all the time.
Anyway, off to sleep now as I have been drinking milky-pops and doing my leg-bicycling exercises solidly since 8pm, and starting to feel the effects now. Hiccup. Sleepytime bigboy milkypops night night. Hiccup. Love Mummy but wisssshshe would buymore breadsticks. Hiccup. Zzzzzzzzzzz.