A guest post by the extremely funny and likable Mary Widdicks of the popular blog Outmanned.
Diary of a 10-Month-Old
Have you ever wondered what the baby would write if he or she could keep a blog? Well, now you don’t have to. For better or worse, I am transporting you into the mind of my 10-month-old son. Godspeed.
7:30am– Before anyone else in the house has stirred, I wake stealthily and crawl to the top corner of my crib where the monitor camera can’t see me. I will now proceed to shout at the top of my lungs, causing Mommy to panic when she can’t find me on the screen and come running into my room in order to make sure I haven’t fallen out of my crib. No matter how many times I play this trick she always comes running. It never gets old.
8:00am– Time for my morning poop. I find the best time and place for a bowel movement is at the breakfast table immediately after everyone sits down to eat. No matter how many times she washes them, Mommy’s hands will now smell like a mixture of poop and baby wipes for hours. She didn’t really need the rest of that muffin anyway. Her thighs will thank me tomorrow.
9:00am– I have discovered a wonderful new game. First I procure the remote controls from various devices around the house. I must protect them savagely against anyone attempting to use them for their intended purpose. Once I’ve coated the buttons in slobber, I initiate Phase 2 of the game: hide the remote. I once managed to sneak the remote for the Roku box into a rarely used storage bin in the closet under the stairs, rendering Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom tv useless for weeks. Today I squirrelled the dvd player remote in my brother’s box of train tracks. Shh, don’t tell.
9:30am– Time for my second morning poop. If the breakfast table is not a viable option, then privacy is the next best thing. I like to crawl speedily away while my mom’s back is turned then hide in a corner (the smaller the better) until she comes looking for me. My personal favorite is the tiny gap between the wall and the aquarium where I can watch the fish and lick the tank while doing my business. I remain silent while she calls my name with increasing concern, waiting to see how long it takes her to sniff me out.
1:00pm– After my nap I am starving, and feast upon peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, avocado, and as many grapes as I can hoard before Mommy cuts me off. I have eaten nothing else for lunch in weeks and I have no intention of changing now. Mommy once tried serving me a hotdog. I believe I made my disgust crystal clear. Last week we found a mummified chunk of said hotdog tucked away under a piece of furniture.
1:30pm– Time for my afternoon poop. This time when Mommy goes to change my diaper I catch her off guard and shoot my hand at lightning speed toward my soiled manhood. I love watching the look of horror and concern on her face when I grab ahold of my scrotum and attempt to stretch it up over my head. So far I haven’t made it past my belly button, but I’m still working on it. Once I release my testicular death grip, Mommy tries wildly to clean the poop from my hand before I smear it on my face, her face or the floor. This is the perfect opportunity to perform the full alligator-death-roll and wriggle free of her grasp. My poop-hand and I head directly for Big Brother’s train set and proceed to give Thomas a new coat of brown paint. He is not impressed and neither is my brother. This stunt usually lands me flat on my back, rubbing my eyes with the back of my rather unpleasant smelling hands.
3:00pm– When you are the smallest person in the house you must stand out from the crowd in order to be heard. The dogs bark when they need to go outside. My brother whines when he can’t get his way. Mommy and Daddy shout “NO” when I pull books, dvds, and picture frames off shelves. The louder a person yells, the more attention they receive. So I’ve invented a new sound, never before uttered by a human child. It is a delightful mixture between the shrill cry of vulture, the yapping of a hungry hyena, and the World’s Most Annoying Noise from the movie Dumb and Dumber. Mommy calls it “The Shriek of Doom.” It’s a multipurpose sound expressing happiness, sadness, pain, anger, laughter, boredom, or pooping. I’m surprised it hasn’t caught on quicker.
3:30pm– Time for my nap-time poop. I like to wait until Mommy puts me down for my afternoon nap and then pretend to sleep for ten minutes or so, just to fool her into thinking she’s going to accomplish something, before standing up to fill my shorts. Once the deed is done I will jump up and down furiously until she drags herself up the stairs and changes my diaper yet again.
4:00pm– Mommy decides it’s too late for me to nap and carries me back down stairs where I can cause carnage while she starts cooking dinner. I pull all the cookbooks onto the floor and rifle through them. It is an ironic choice choice of reading material as I will only eat fish sticks and chicken strips for dinner. Mommy is unimpressed with my attempt at humor and shoos me into the play area with my brother. He is crumbling Play Doh onto the carpet and driving his cars through the mess. I eat a few globs of the squishy pink substance before he notices and hip-checks me out of the way.
4:30pm– I realize that Mommy isn’t watching so I crawl into the tiled sunroom and climb to the top of the sofa. I pose myself precariously on the top cushion before announcing my accomplishment with the Shriek of Doom. Mommy comes barreling in, spatula in hand, and removes me from my perch. She barks something about cracked skulls and deposits me back in the playroom. I wait for her to turn her back and head back into the sunroom to repeat the process approximately 13 times before Daddy finally gets home from work.
5:30pm– By the time dinner is ready I’m too tired to eat. That nap I pooh-poohed (literally) is starting to sound pretty attractive. I lay my head down on my high chair tray and absent-mindedly push a grape around until it falls off the side. The dog makes a spectacular diving catch and snatches the grape out of midair. Suddenly I’m no longer tired. Before Mommy or Daddy have a chance to stop me I hurl every piece of food left on my tray in different directions. The two dogs jump, snap, skid, growl, and chomp furiously. It’s like watching a piranha feeding frenzy. Mommy takes away the last of my grapes and says something to Daddy about the dogs being fat.
7:00pm– Finally, bedtime arrives and I can barely keep my eyes open. Mommy lays me in bed and I’m asleep before she leaves the room. It’s hard work being 10 months old. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try walking!
* This is the third installation of the Diary of a Baby series: Diary of a 10 Month Old. If you’d like to catch up on the previous editions you can find them here: Diary Of An 8 Month Old and Diary Of A Nine Month Old.
Mary Widdicks is a 31-year-old mom to two boys and two male dogs. Once a cognitive psychologist, she now spends the majority of her time trying to outsmart her kids (and failing!). Being the only girl in the family means that sometimes her voice gets drowned out by fart jokes and belching contests. She started Outmanned so she’d have a place to escape the testosterone and share her hilarious life with the rest of the world. Mary’s writing has been featured on parenting sites such as Mamapedia, Mamalode, In the Powder Room and Scary Mommy. She is a regular contributor on BLUNTmoms and has been honored as a 2014 Voice of the Year by BlogHer, and Badass Blogger of the Year by The Indie Chicks.
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