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Tuesday, 9 January 2018

Secret Diary of a Baby - The Universal Truths of Having an Older Sibling

Imagine if babies could talk, or write savage diaries about how hard it is being a second rate citizen subject to the torture of their older siblings. Well wonder no longer, because I found my baby's diary and it made for horrific reading..




Dear diary. At 9 months of age, I have a select vocabulary of “mama” “dada” and a peculiar “get the fuck away from me” grunt that I reserve for my older sibling.

I literally can’t WAIT until I can walk. It means I’m one step closer to being able to slam a door like he does. It looks (and sounds) so god damn satisfying.

I barely got anything for my first Christmas from my parents. A £1 toy lizard from Poundsavers and a few clothes from the H&M sale that I watched you buy me? REALLY DAD? And HE gets a Scalextric? What the fuck?!

Worst of all, on Christmas Day, that idiot brother of mine decided he liked my lizard more than anything else he got, and proceeded to tail-slap and taunt me with it while I crawled after him. Talk about a 101 lesson in how to enrage and distress a baby, I’VE GOT MENTAL SCARS HERE PEOPLE. 

And what’s with baby toys? No interest, pal. Instead, when he leaves it lying around I get a god damn SWORD, motherfucker! And the giant Bruder crane lorry for 3 year olds and above is siiick!
Hold up, what the fuck, I was clearly playing with that. Alone. And you came in here and took it away from me for no reason because you are an arsehole. And now you’re damn near strangling me with the rope whoa whoa whoa this is not cool. Abort abort ABORT. 

(No idea why I keep saying fuck, but I can’t stress to you how stressful it is having an older sibling.)

Parents keep talking to him about his “reward chart” but meanwhile I’m sat here wondering why don’t I get a chart? I need a mini break in the Algarve for the shit I have to put up with.

And what’s this LEGO stuff with all the little pieces, why does dad keep having kittens whenever I go near it? I’m fucking teething here man, throw me a bone!

Bathtime is just plain nasssty. I’m sat here trying not to drown while this hippopotamus oaf keeps grabbing me like I’m a girl at a gypsy wedding.

You know what also pisses my bottle? Mother and father carry my nappies around in a rucksack and not a proper baby changing bag. I’m not a second rate citizen you know! Stop acting like you’ve got parenting nailed. I deserve a change bag FFS.

And why does HE get all the new clothes? This is bullshit!

Don’t even get me started on the dirty ass Maclaren stroller you carted me around in. Grubby as fuck. Did you even bother to clean it? Such a huge relief when my dear grandparents bought me a swanky new one, out of shame. No question, it was the best day of my life. Love you, Nana and Grandpa. Can’t fake this shit, I cried real tears of joy. 

When you change my nappy it’s bad enough, but when that boy loses his shit because he hasn’t seen my poo it’s the final humiliation. I AM BETTER THAN THIS. I AM NOT A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT.

Good news though. I’ve just learned how to climb the stairs. Up there is where all the good shit is! And my bed. Dear God how I need my bed. 

OK. Gotta go “play the game” for a bit. They keep telling me about this “See Boobies” thing on the big window and how my brother used to “love” this freak called Mr Tumble. Clearly the man is deeply unhinged but whatevs, I’ll smile and nod.

6 comments:

  1. It is fun to read this. I too felt the same with my cute doll. But that is what makes our relationship stronger. I just love her. Sharmistha Barai

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