Why would I have two top and two bottom teeth if I wasn't meant to bite? I bite plastic toys and that seems to be OK with the Olds. They laugh and say to people "Everything goes straight into his mouth!"
They made such a fuss as every one of my four teeth came through. And I can tell you they hurt too! The Olds seemed so proud.
Why oh why then, when I bite new things these days, like people's fingers, thumbs, cheeks, arms do they say "No biting! Your teeth hurt people."?
I know... they hurt me too!
This new place we have gone to is a lot bigger than the one before. That's great, but it means that now there's a bit of a problem. Communication! How do I let the Olds know when I need them?
I've been practising, and I think I've perfected the solution. Screeching!
Now I wouldn't want you to think my new screeching means I'm in pain. Oh no! I cry when I'm in pain. The screeching means "Oi! How about a bit of attention?" And in this big house it sounds really good!
The best thing?... it works! Every single time.
My cousin Jas likes grabbing stuff...but I like opening stuff....like doors. I need to see what's the other side of the door. In the new kitchen there are lots of new doors and drawers. Inside these doors I discover lots of interesting stuff which I think Mummy and Daddy want me to get out and put on the floor. Pots and pans and bottles and cans... and pasta and flour! Flour is good, but the really dangerous sharp stuff is what I like best.
If only I could speak, I would tell them "not fair!" when the Olds say "No!"
I've got the hang of this place now. Lots and lots of doors. I love doors! Lounge door, conservatory doors, dining room door, kitchen door, utility room door, toilet door, front door. Loads more doors upstairs. And that's just the big doors.
We only had one big door in my old place. I liked putting my hands on it from the inside to stop grown ups getting in. And when I let them in, I was ready to shoot out into the hallway where I had to choose, front door or stairs. A tricky decision. I shouldn't have hesitated, because...
Just a mini holiday with Granny and Baba after all. Nice, but after a while I wanted to go back home.
What's this place? This isn't my home... it's much bigger, but that looks like Mum's sofa... and yes, she's sitting on it. Dad's here too - that's a relief, but I wish he'd take more notice of me, rather than emptying all those boxes. Hang on... I remember the boxes.. getting in my way.
That's odd, nobody seems to be getting up to go home. And they're letting me crawl all over the place. I wish I could stay here!
Something's going on round here! Mum and Dad have started putting big boxes in places I need to walk my walker. Next they'll put them on top of my stuff. Now that's not fair on me and I've noticed Misty, that furry thing, is not too happy either.
What's more, the Ancients are all here, tidying up. Far too many for my little house. What are they doing... are they all moving in? They can't have my bedroom!
No, it seems I've been given away to Granny and Baba. My toys have gone with me. They think I won't notice...
Sometimes my mummy cries. I don't know why. She tells friends she hates 'a mess'. But she says it when there's no mess!
Says she's a bad mother because of 'a mess' and she can't do things other mums can, like taking me out for a walk. If I could speak I would say the same as Baba. He says I'm the luckiest boy in the world having a mum like her. She spends her time reading books to me, talking to me, snuggling with me watching Baby Jake. Other babies aren't so lucky! 'A mess' is OK by me!
I spend my days doing stuff. I've got lots of stuff which I spread all over the floor. My current favourite stuff is changing the TV picture with the black buttony thing, although I have been known to call Granny and Baba on Mummy's iPhone from time to time. It's a great thing to do as they always sound so happy to talk to me.
I'm practising the standing stuff a lot now and I like walking stuff with my walker.
But what's this? On Facebook cousin Jas is walking all by himself! And I'm two months older! Cheeky monkey!
They say I'm curious. Does that means the same as weird?'
"Hey, listen up... I'm no weirdo.. I'm as normal as any one year old."
I've also heard them say I'm inquisitive. That doesn't sound too good either. I think it means I poke my nose in. Opening kitchen drawers and doors is what I do. Well a guy needs to find out what's inside! I find out what's there and I need to pull everything out... curiously!
'Very curious' I heard yesterday. Must mean super-weird.
But... what's that... curious is a good thing?
"Why sure, I'm curious!"
When you're a guy of my age, you have to decide how you appear to the world around you. I've heard them say I'm a little poser... well yes, I pose for photographs, but I think they mean something different!
But a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do! Take my highchair for instance. Sitting up straight's for girls! Girl's are so sensible! Me, I sit up straight when the food arrives. I like to see what's there first; that's easier up straight.
But when anyone looks at me I slide down and slump.
Sitting's OK, but slumping's cool!
Sometimes I wonder if Baba is a bit barmy. I know he knows my name... so why does he keep calling me Mister? It's a Mistery! He must know my real name because it's what he and Granny were going to call Mummy if only she'd been a boy.
There he goes again. 'Now look here Barbs!' ...see... two can play at your silly game!
"Hello........... BaBarbara!" That's a funny one, but he's not too good at interpreting my sophisticated noises yet to get my joke.
Or maybe he is... I see a wibbly wobbly raspberry coming!
Now I'm a big boy, they don't mollycoddle me. (I wonder if mollycoddle is anything to do with my cousin Mollycule? Sounds similar.) Into the bath I go. I love it in the water. I splish, I splash, I splishity-splash. I try to get the water inside the bath to the outside... on the floor. I'm very good at that. So why do they try to curb my special skill?
I could become a waterman like my great, great, great, great grandfather. Water must be in my genes.
Whooosh! Out I go... Granny's off again!... "Rub a dub dub..."
He thinks I don't notice, but I do. I saw him get a little can of stuff and pour it in a glass for Mummy while Granny was out of the way. Mummy gets fatigue and has convinced Baba that energy drinks are good for her. Granny doesn't think so, big time!
If Baba is caught smuggling them to my Mummy then he's in for a serious ear-bashing (or that's what he told Mummy). He can be a bit raspberryiferous, but I don't want him to get his ears bashed. I prefer to do that myself when I yell!
As soon as he saw me this morning, he planted a raspberry loudly on my neck. I pretended not to like it - not good for my street cred - but it was fun. Granny wasn't amused!
"Poor little chap's only just woken up and you do that!"
"Hey Granny, chill!.... no probs here. I need to humour Baba... make him think he's funny!"
Revenge came very soon, after Baba was bullied into making my porridge (which he did rather well, yum-yum!). I'm a bloke. I had to get the porridge all over my highchair, my hands.... and Baba's new shirt!
He's called Baba. I've no idea why, except, when she was little, Mollycule couldn't say grandpa. Me and Jas are copycats.
He says it's easier for him to write on birthday cards (I hope his laziness doesn't run in the family or I could have the prospect of a life on the dole even before I've started school.)
Baba's speciality is giving loud wobbly raspberries on our cheeks. Granny says it's not a good example to us, but we're all too scared and excited all-in-one to dare complain. The big cousins raspberry him back. Scary but very brave!
A holiday with Mummy at Granny's this week. Daddy's had to go off to Amsterdam for a major trade show, whatever that is. Trade show... Amsterdam? Yeah, right, Dad! Surprised Mummy gave you the green light!
We've brought lots of stuff over here. I'm keen to practise with the baby walker. Hope to start walking on my own and surprise Dad when he gets back home.
If I can start walking I'll be able to help Mummy because she can't walk too well herself... but I heard her telling Granny that me walking might be a total nightmare!
The tiddlers have gone now as have the bigger ones, home and for school.
Back to normal? ...as if!
The protective mats under the highchairs tell the tale.
Ten month old Jas, despite being noticeably smaller in size, has a bigger throwing range - javelin or hammer for him. He regularly throws off-piste.
Aged one, I am equally as determined, but my neater spectrum of rejected foodstuffs is more suggestive of the shot put. Under, around and in my chair.
The Ancients wondered if we'd eaten anything, but we had plenty of energy for the open stairgate sprint!
(Jas is on the loose at Granny's. Uh-oh! 10 months going on 10 years.)
'Here again in this big room. Where's the other little fellow who was here last Sunday? He seemed to have the same ideas as me. Throwing stuff, touching the TV screen, planting icky-sticky fingers on all the windows, playing bottle skittles in the kitchen and trying to get through those bars. Together, we almost broke through, but I'm too little on my own.'
'Blast it (sorry Granny!)'
'But what's this? Joy oh joy, Dad's opening the bars and letting me through! Ye-ha! Parole!
I shouldn't say this, on account of my tough guy reputation, but one of my best things is to watch CBeebies. I watch it on the sofa, snuggled up with my mum. My favourite is Baby Jake. He's a bit like me - well most babies are - but he seems to do rather exciting things every day. He goes on lots of adventures with his big brother.
I wish Baby Jake would come round to my house and have an adventure with me. It would be magic.
But then I think about my street cred. Back to doing my usual stuff.
Granny's got a preparation table in the middle of her kitchen. She stands at it making stuff.
She likes it when I'm there to help her out. My helping out is always at floor level. I crawl around her table, checking her shoes, the vegetables underneath the table, the cooker, the cupboards; just checking they're OK. Then it's skittles with the plastic lemonade bottles. They look better rolling around the floor. They seem safer and can't fall on a little fellow like me (once I've knocked them over).
I'm so helpful. I wonder how she manages when I'm not there?