20th May 2017
MY BUGGY BUGS ME
Hi George here. Welcome to my world won’t you come on in.
Life’s busy taking on my new responsibilities as a one year old. No one warned me it would be so tough and so much mischief expected of me when I pass my first birthday. You have to do so much more than when you were one month old, or 11 months and 6 days old, and you do not sleep so much it is exhausting.
I go to bed between 7.00pm and 7.30pm and I have to be awake by 5.00am.
Being awake at that time is a huge responsibility in itself. I am the first to wake in our household as I have to ensure I awake every one else. I don’t think they’d ever wake up, they’d stay in bed all day if I didn’t wake them. They are not grateful for my actions, either.
They tend not to be too sympathetic towards me.
Just think, I’m learning a new language, eating food I don’t like, I’m figuring out how to walk, my teeth are killing me and if I need a poo I just have to go in my pants. Is it any surprise I get a bit f***** off sometimes?
I think I achieved most things on the list of items to do before I was one year old. I don’t like to brag but I’m a natural at achieving. Mum and Dad know I’m the original, yes, the King of making it happen.
So having achieved that list I relaxed and thought that’s it now, I’ll just leisurely cruise through life. But I find there’s another s*** load of things to master and achieve before you are two years old. I didn’t realise life was going to be this tough. Once I achieve something, no time to sit back before something else always comes along demanding me to achieve.
When I was in the womb my Mum listened to some crap music but also some good stuff one being the song “Summertime” from the musical “Porgy and Bess”. The words were “Summertime and the living is easy…” Those words gave me hope for the new world I was to be born into. But what a load of crap that was. The only thing that’s easy in this life is pooing, weeing and crying.
Everything else is challenging. Like, I just ain’t mastered this walking routine yet. Mum and Dad say I stand by myself unaided when I’m not aware of it. I don’t think so, I’ve never noticed.
I do use my buggy as a climbing frame. No not a climbing frame (although I do) I mean a walking frame.
My Mum thinks I still need a buggy but she is so wrong. I’ll admit it is good for my standing practice because if she forces me into it, I try really hard to stand up.
There are various activities I’ve developed to make buggy travel more tolerable. One thing I do in the buggy which breaks up the boring monotony is to ensure I have a big toy to throw out. When I see I am going in the buggy for a marathon session I become attached to a toy and scream if anyone remotely tries to extract it from me. Then as we go down the road I throw it out the buggy, dramatically scream as if it is the end of the world until I get it back. And then repeat. The record stands at 47 times per mile.
Often Mum or Dad stick my dummy in my mouth when I am in the buggy. That is another good one to throw out. They don’t always notice and we lose it. What a laugh. It’s good for the economy too as it creates jobs for “dummy makers”.
Another thing is I make sure my blanket is lightly dragging on the floor and in danger of catching in the wheels. This maximises my eye-hand coordinating skills.
Something the buggy is useful for, as I have said, developing my walking and running skills. When the opportunity crops up I insist on pushing my “walking frame” (buggy). Mum and Dad (grandparents too) always say “No” but I always, always, wear them down.
When I am pushing the buggy myself I can’t see over the top and where I am pushing it. But I push with confidence and let my instinct guide me. You won’t believe the adventures I get taken on. Mum and Dad can never leave things, they try to help me, but I protest loudly.
The problem is once I’ve walked with the buggy it feels a retrograde, backward step to sit in it again rather than pushing it, which means I have to protest.
Although I don’t like to admit it Mum and Dad occasionally get their own way and win and I end up strapped in my buggy. The worst thing in the world is them getting me in the buggy and then I fall asleep. So dumb of me! The problem is with having to wake up so early I am tired out and don’t realise I’m going to sleep.
Talking of sleep… it does sound a good idea.
When I was a lad at school around 13 years old, our Maths teacher used to call me Wol. At the end of the year as we were moving up a class I plucked up courage to ask why he called me Wol. He told meit was thename of the deslexic owl in Winnie the Pooh. With my Harry Potter glasses he said I looked like the Wise Old Owl in the Winnie the Pooh stories.
Being the vain person I am I took it as a compliment
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