So I met my paternal great-grandmother which is, as far as I can tell, the parental unit of my parental unit’s unit. I know…like, don’t they ever grow up? I’m just guessing, but I estimate she’s about 3 or 4 thousand years old. I’m hoping we’re genetically similar because she’s got to be the most agile, active and loving quadri-kilonarian I’ve ever met. She seems to have more energy than my dad and he’s only a few hundred years old or so.
I have no freedom in this place… I’m comfortable eating with my feet up on the table and, apparently, this is “verboten” in my house. Are all parents this strict? “Feet, Mado!” I hear them say all the time… as if they never had feet of their own. Gimme a break…
When I get a chair of my own I’m going to put my feet up all the time …. and I will never wear shoes!
This liquid thing has me so baffled.
It looks solid, but my hand goes right through it. It’s almost always attached to some hard-surfaced projection and seems to flow to a bed of not-quite-solid material but I can never get a good grip on it. Sometimes I think I’ve got a good grip on it but then I open my paws and nothing remains.
Does anyone know what this stuff is made of? Is it safe?
There seems to be a theme running here.
They slip me into some sort of support device then strap me in. Barely three months old and with a spine that’s about as solid as week-old noodles in a soggy paper bag, they slip me into this plastiform molded chair and expect me to be ecstatic at the opportunity to mold my skeletal structure to an implement that seems more built for torture than for comfort. I guess I brought this on … I had this weird notion that I could see things better if I sat up than if laid flat on my back. I must admit I kinda like this “sitting up” position better… had I known it would entail this form of therapeutic punishment I might have spent a few more months admiring the finely detailed workmanship on the ubiquitous parquet flooring.
“Hello? Is this the Child Protection Services?”
I’d like to report a goofy father who drags a helpless child into a construction zone? What? Danger? Yes… there must be! There were wires, unfinished walls, insulation and stuff…spooky enough to make my hair stand on end…
Didn’t they have enough time to finish this place before I was born? And what the heck are they doing while I’m sleeping anyways?
OK… so I’m a bit embarassed, I think. Suddenly my mom thinks I need some nekkid time to commune with nature and I find myself, sans nappie or much else, out in public view. I must admit that the breeze is somewhat refreshing – but I do feel a bit vulnerable. Crawling is easier… but, between you and me, I’m a tad self-conscious as I meander across the front lawn wearing nothing more than a hat and a bit of drool.
Oh great…go ahead. Snap a picture of me while I’m chasing an ant up my nose. Thanks! I’ll leave you a surprise on the blankie…
I think I’ve stumbled onto something here. If I push up on my lower extremities while pulling on the upper ones, I can achieve a vertical advantage. The view from this position is amazing! I can see all around me — things that were previously hidden suddenly come into view!!It’s a bit dizzying though — I can’t support this position for long because my legs aren’t strong enough to support my head for any significant length of time — but I suspect that if I keep doing this “pull up” routine I’ve just developed, I’ll have enough lower-body strength to maintain this position for whole minutes at a time. I’m not sure, but I think that this “standing up” technology is key to the whole ambulatory thing. Stay tuned…
You know, I like to follow fashion trends just like the other gals, but tell me, in which sister-sister manual does it say that a gal’s gotta match her threads to her mamma’s? I hafta say, once and for all, that it just creeps me out when I look in the mirror and my momma and I are wearing the same freekin’ outfit.
I must admit though… I think red is my colour. Dunno about my Martha-Stewart-wannabe-mom… maybe she should stick to earth tones.
So here’s Grand-papa Joe visiting from Toronto and, as far as I can tell, he’s bored with the adult company. So I read him a story… what else could I do to entertain him?
Mom and dad are busy doing whatever they do and here’s poor GPP Joe trying to occupy his time. Fortunately I was chillin’ on his lap, so I read him that story about that poor Hippo trying to get his dad’s attention but his dad is too busy to play. I think he liked it…