In the Year One

xyloIt’s been almost a week since I turned one. Here’s a report from the field.

On the morning of my first birthday the birds were singing a special song just for me. Also on that morning the cat stepped in his poo and tracked it all over the apartment. There was a lovely piece of chocolate on the floor and I was about to pop it in my mouth when my father swooped in and grabbed it. Then he compulsively washed his hands 20 times. I never knew a piece of chocolate could make you feel so dirty, but he is weird about food sometimes. He and my mother are attempting to feed me olives, which is very wrong. More on that in a moment.

On my birthday we had a party in the park with many of my close, personal friends. My mom’s cake came out great. It was really hot that day so I had a meltdown, but that is par for the course for your first birthday. Also for your 30th birthday you can have a meltdown if you don’t like your job, and on your 40th because you are over the hill, and also on your 50th because you are so old and you’ve hardly achieved anything and you only have maybe three decades left. Usually those later meltdowns involve overeating and booze. Since I don’t have access to those indulgences I just rolled around in some sand. That worked for me. And I got great toys.

I have more than 365 days of experience on Earth, so I feel it is time to start throwing food. I’ve earned it and it’s a valuable means of expression. I recommend it to everyone! If people in restaurants threw their food to express their displeasure, imagine how that would immeasurably raise the level of cuisine in this country. The chefs would simply have to step up their game. May I offer some aerodynamic tips? Don’t bother trying to throw rice crispies. The crenelations of the crispies cause too much drag and they are too lightweight to go far. An olive, being slick and somewhat heavy (at least for a baby) will go quite far and lodge under the cabinet, where it will rot satisfactorily for many weeks. Just saying.

I only eat raisins and bananas. I have even said the word ‘banana’ to make this clear to my parents. Yet they persist with abominations such as black beans, even though I used to like them. They do not understand that my crib rail tastes good now. I am chomping it like a woodchuck. They have to order a special crib rail cover from Amazon before I chew right through it. My tastes are changing, you see, and the best time to express this is by shouting my preferences at three-thirty in the morning. That is how you get your parents’ attention. At the age of one I have opinions, okay? They must be respected even if they change constantly.

Here’s one opinion that’s really important right now. They tell me I am going through a phase of super-attachment to my mommy, but I think they have this wrong. It is a religious devotion to my mommy. It is a burning desire to remain in close contact with my mommy at every nanosecond. If you had my mommy as a mommy you would understand why you would never want to let her go far. Well, get this: The big experiment starts next week when I start baby school. This is like pre-school, but you go two times a week for a couple of hours and you bring your own lunch in a lunchbox. Your mommy takes you there but she doesn’t stay. We will have to see about that! They better have some good toys at baby school or they are going to be in deep doo-doo with me.

I will have more details on that soon, but I gotta run now. They are about to give me more food to throw.


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