Dear Diary – written by my toddler 

Diary entry, as written by my toddler: 
Dear diary,
Today was like any other day. I woke up and the sun was still asleep. I decided that after the 7th time of calling for mummy, it was time for her to get up. She doesn’t really need sleep, she’s always saying how much she has to do anyway. 
My mummy gave me breakfast. Sometimes I wonder if her brain is screwed in her head right (is that the expression?) because she gave me toast. Since when have I liked toast? I may have enjoyed it yesterday, but today is an entirely different day, and today I don’t like toast. In fact I hate it. Today I like yoghurt. 

Yoghurt with sprinkles. With a yellow spoon. GODAMN IT WHY DID SHE GIVE ME THE RED SPOON. incompetent. Anyhoo.
After breakfast it was time to change me. I know my mummy likes this bit the most. I can tell. Her eyebrows always come together and she always says “quickly”… I’m pretty sure that word means slow down and go really slowly and put my arms through where my head comes out of. It’s a real kicker when I kick around and roll over and go stiff like a board. Always such a laugh with that one. Today she made this noise and looked sad and now I’m pantless. Who da man? I’m da man. 
I told her I want to “watchy dory”… you’d think I was speaking another language because she put on some movie with this crazy fish and an octopus. Of course, that really hurt my emotional state and I was left with no choice but to throw myself on the floor and scream, until the situation changed. She just kept saying to me “this is dory! This is what you wanted to watch! What do you want to watch?” I meant the girl with the backpack. How could she not see that. Although i might wait till she’s changed the channel and then let her know that dory wasn’t so bad. After all I don’t want her to feel bad for her poor choices. 
Great. Lunch time. What shit has she put on my plate this time? Excuse my vulgarity, but you see, every day she continuously puts some crazy shit on my plate. Orange sticks, green sticks, these disgusting trees that not even pepper pig herself would touch. Sometimes she hides it under cheese. Obviously she thinks I’m stupid. I tried giving her the plate back, but she kept telling me to just “try it”. Obviously trying to kill me. Just cave in woman, and give me my jam sang witches. And yes… for the record I can survive on jam sang witches everyday, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She likes the way I say sang witches. I know when to be cute when it counts. 
I saw her trying to sneak some food into her mouth while I was drawing on the walls. Is she mad? The only person who eats around here is me. She was using that thing again, what’s it called? A fauk? I don’t know why she thinks it’s funny when I say that. Someone call child services because this woman is insane. 
I spent most of the day pressing the same button on my keyboard. Call me Mozart because hearing meow 56 times in the space of 2 minutes is my F symphony… as mummy

Calls it. 
Speaking of 56 times, I find myself so inquisitive around afternoon snack time. Asking why just once, just doesn’t seem enough. 
She called me a cheeky bastard today. I’ll make sure to repeat that when we are at grandmas tomorrow. I know mum will love that. Her face goes red like the colour of love. (I learned that) 
Ohh it’s barf time. See the thing about barf time is that I really hate getting in. I HATE IT. I will scream loud so hopefully the neighbours will rescue me… but there’s something about being in there, something about that water turning ice cold, the bubbles dissolving and my hands becoming ripply that makes me just want to stay in there. She’s always trying to get me to come out. NO. You put me in here, so now you will suffer the consequences. See what I have to put up with diary? 
Oh I didn’t talk about dinner because I just flat out refused. You don’t want to give me jam sang witches. Well, I won’t eat. 
Now listen up diary. I’m going to let you in on a little secret about bed time. The trick is, you gotta scream. You gotta cry and scream like when she says no to chocolate. You know how it feels like to not have chocolate.. get angry. Make her come in… and then close your eyes. Wait until she leaves by crawling out quietly, and then scream again. You gotta not give up, then she gets used to it and thinks you can just go to sleep on your own. Every time she shh’s, it’s best to scream louder. She might try and send in daddy, but he will soon give up and she will be back in the room, don’t worry. 
When the moon is really bright is the best time to ask for a biscuit. After all she starved me at dinner… what did she expect? 
Well diary. It’s been a wonderful day. 
The cow went moo, the duck went quack and my fuck went vroom vroom. Mummy didn’t like me talking about my fuck as much today. Maybe I’ll tell grandma about it, or when we are the doctors. 
It’s getting close to moon bright time, time to yell out… can’t let her think she isn’t there at my beck and call. 
P.s hope she knows that tomorrow I’m really going to hate yoghurt.