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…

Woah… today I experienced something radically different from the rest of my existence!  At first it was just a question of sitting in a different but similar chair, if you know what I mean. But then, all of sudden, there’s my maternal unit pushing on the chair, almost as if she wanted to put some distance between me and her.

Then, without warning, the chair starts to fall back towards her, as if some secret force was at work denying her the pleasure of my rejection. So then she pushes again, as if to emphasize her antipathy, and — amazingly — her efforts are thwarted by a sudden swing back towards her. This “to-fro”  yin-yang thing goes on for several time-units.

She squealed then screamed something at me but that woman just can’t pronounce her words — it just sounds like mumbling to me. Besides, if it doesn’t start with a “buh” sound then I don’t understand it… come to think of it, every word I  know is pronounced “buh”… go figure.

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 it turns out, after all, that my paternal unit isn’t such a dweeb after all.  I was concerned when I found out he was a computer dweeb … I mean, how could he possibly take care of my needs when he makes such poor career choices? But then I discovered that he moonlights as a volunteer firefighter… now that’s a real job. I imagine he gets paid mucho dinera for that!

I’m relieved, frankly. It would have been really awkward dragging my bones to the first day at pre-kin knowing that my answer to the perennial “so what does your father-figure do?” question would be “well… he’s a dweeb”.  Now I can say, with some pride, that he’s a highly paid volunteer firefighting dude.

They gave me this round semi rigid thing without a single word of warning and, just as I put it into my mouth (like I always do with new stuff) it starts to dissolve and, I swear, crumble into little bits of sand-flavoured crap! I don’t know what they were thinking…they know I put everything in my mouth — what’s with the sand-bar?

I gagged, naturally, and spat it out yet, for some unfathomable reason, I felt compelled to put the evil thing back into my mouth. It was like my mouth needed a second opinion. Soon I was left with a soggy mess, a sorely-tested gag reflex, bits junk in my hair and nose, and, shortly thereafter, some nasty structural changes in my nappy.

I certainly hope this is the last time they try to foist that kind of junk into me…

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…

I have this morbid fascination with things that make sounds, especially if the sounds are the result of my movement.  I know… it’s kinky, but I can’t help it. So there I am performing my best ‘cranky baby’ routine when suddenly they slap this string of rings on me and fix it to a cabinet handle. Lo and behold, I just can’t stop madly shaking the rings on my arms, like some compulsive-obsessive ghost chained to a wall. I am compelled to watch as the rings slap against the cabinet, over and over again. Fortunately my dignity was spared when I just, like, passed out, still attached to the cabinet.

Ok…. I’m generally pretty flexible and open minded… but nobody said anything anything about “brothers”!  I fully expected to be the first offspring, if not the fabled “only child”, but here I find myself introduced to a brother! A fully grown one, at that!  I’m sorry, but this wasn’t part of the bargain…nobody told me I was was playing second clarinet to some incorrectly-gendered genetically-similar carbon entity.  Just give me a few moments to think of an appropriate response…

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?