January 8, 2009 by skwishface
I love you, Mother, but you are not Daddy.
You say that Daddy is not here, but, despite overwhelming evidence supporting your claim, I prefer to investigate the matter myself. At bedtime. While naked, having just gotten out of my bath.
There is a baby gate hampering the thoroughness of my search. Clinging and wailing don’t seem to be working to get it open. Perhaps I have not tried long enough. I believe my continued nudity also assists.
Surprisingly, I have now urinated on the rug. Daddy would agree with me that this is very cool.
Speaking of Daddy, where is he?
Why are you trying to restrain me with absorbent underpants? Why do you persist in your lies? Daddy is here somewhere. Because you are now insisting on holding me prone and wrapping my limbs in these infuriating pajamas, I am forced to summon Daddy. He could be very far away, so I will use my very loudest voice. Keep in mind that this is your doing, Mother.
I see that you have replaced my customary nighttime bottle with a sippy cup. I shall treat your claim that “big boys” use such devices at bedtime with the same suspicion with which I regard your assertions regarding the whereabouts of Daddy. I shall also demonstrate how this particular sippy cup is leaking.
The bedtime story selection is unsatisfactory. I shall express this in the same voice with which I have been summoning Daddy. And emphasize it with milk drool.
My pajama shirt is now soaked. You will need to get another one. And while your back is turned, I will attempt to return to the baby gate and further my search for Daddy. You will never catch me alive.
Your tears do not dissuade me, Mother. Neither does your bodily manhandling of me. I shall now bow my back away from you, and thrash my limbs, and resume summoning Daddy. My struggle is legendary!
Oh. I appear to be in bed. Are you turning off the light? Good night, Mother. I love you, too.
By the way, where is Daddy?