Amuse myself by playing with my own feet in bed. Parents are snoring away in the next bedroom. I allow them this moment as they did a good job of entertaining me at 2am when I decided it was morning. 


Bored of feet. Start to cry and hit legs against side of cot to make as much noise as possible – this makes them worry I’m climbing over the bars and usually gets a response immediately. Mum runs in with panicked look on her face. Success.

I’m taken into the grown-ups’ bed where mum and dad attempt to doze while I roll around, cry and pull their hair until one of them relents and takes me downstairs. 


Breakfast! It’s the most important meal of the day. For that reason I don’t understand why I’m offered a bowl of mush when it’s milk that I want. 

I move my head whenever mummy attempts to put some in my mouth. Most of the bowl is now on my face, clothes and in my hair. 

Daddy says maybe I’m not hungry today. Mummy looks cross. 


Milk! I drink it like I’ve wandered the desert for a year. 


Mummy has a look of determination on her face as she begins to write what she’s calling a “meal plan”.

She’s been on that Google again, I can tell. 


I want more milk. Mummy mutters that I wouldn’t be hungry again if I had eaten my breakfast. I glare at her and guzzle it down. 


Nap time! Being up all night is exhausting. 


We’re off out. I want mummy to remember to bring more milk. Instead she’s packing more of those “finger foods”. They don’t look like fingers but I like throwing them around. Wish she would bring something I would actually eat though. 


Tired and hungry. Mummy’s offering of the “finger foods” is nice, but I’m fed up of throwing them around now. I need actual food. 


Lunch! Mummy spent most of yesterday afternoon running frantically around the kitchen with various pots and pans on the go. I sat on the floor chewing a wooden spoon and watching. 

Now the freezer is full of stuff that I don’t like to eat. She reaches for a serving of some strange brown substance. It has the consistency of what comes out of my bum three times a day. 

Mummy waves the spoon around as if it’s an aeroplane. I reward her effort by opening my mouth. Yuck, it’s disgusting. I use my tongue to push it all out again. I don’t open my mouth at all for the next 30 minutes. 


Milk! Hooray, finally I get to have lunch. 


Tired. Watching mummy attempt to make solid food look enticing is exhausting. 


Wide awake now but feeling like I’ve slept for too long. As a result, I shall be a right bastard for the rest of today. 


Dinner. LOL. Haven’t they learned yet. Presented with strange orange-coloured paste that mummy insists is “delicious”.

Amuse myself by staring at her as she pretends to eat it herself and makes over the top yummy noises that I know are fake. I’m a baby, I’m not stupid. 


Get impatient with this silly game and fling bowl of orange paste to the floor. Mum stares at me in horror. To really make my point I look her in the eye as I drop my cup of water on the floor too. 


Finally, milk time, hooray! Why would I ditch this for “solid food” that looks like it’s been regurgitated by a mother bird. 


Daddy’s home! He sits down with mummy at the dinner table and they eat. I insist on sitting on mummy’s lap and sticking my hands in her food and licking it whenever she’s distracted. Why can’t they serve me what they’re eating????


Bedtime. Well, I say bedtime. This is the time that mummy and daddy deem to be bedtime. I would happily crack on for another two hours. Although I would be a right moody little shit. 


Wake up screaming with hunger. What do you have to do to get a decent meal in this place?