George 20 Months Blog Life’s Pooey

George 20 Months Blog Life’s Pooey

Hi George here, welcome to my world. Won’t you come on in?

Life is about lots of things I have learned. A varied life makes it interesting.

But at my age, officially 20 months old, life is poo, poo is life. Adults have a grown up word for it, too. To be honest to all children life is po, from the womb until 3 years oldish.

But I have to say poo is one of those reassuring and comforting things in life that is always there for you like your Mum, Dad, Sister Freya and family.

Poo is the poo in my nappy*, my potty training poo, the poo people just throw at you, the poo people give you, poo that’s on TV, pooey music served up*2,  the poo you are expected to read in books, the poo you are expected to eat and worst of all the poo you have to do. (If you are an adult replace the word poo with the word s***.)

* I just need to take time out here (no it’s just a figure of speech I’ve not got to take time out for being naughty, I mean I need to digress). What a pain and palaver having my nappy changed is. Mum or Dad or Mamma, or Nanny (not so much Grandads) and even nursery (and they have childcare training), just take me from what I am doing. No, “Excuse me is it convenient?”  I can be watching the crucial part of a film on TV or intensely lost in my play, but they just do not care. They lay me down and expose all my nether regions to the world. To be honest it is grossly embarrassing. But what can I do other than scream and shout and try to escape which never works

*Why do people assume because you are nearly two years old you should be subjected to the worst music in the world.

Ok, I wandered but I am now back on piste. What’s that you say it was poo you were talking about not piste. That must be the worst Grandad joke ever!

I thought the pooey life was only until you hit 2½ to 3ish, but Grandad says life is still full of poo at his age, the only difference is at his age you’ve learnt to allow it go over your head and not affect you.

Excuse me Grandad, does this face look bovered. As they say “Poo happens”. I have observed how Grandad, in fact both Grandads handle poo, I’ve learnt and I have a far better quality of life for it.

Talking poo brings me to the subject of TV. Although everyone except my Dad and Grandad say too much TV is not good for me, I still watch it. Yes, it worries me that only Dad and Grandad dismiss the statement. There seems to be some key irresponsible trait running through there that I can’t quite put my finger on.

But apart from eating, drinking, pooing, sleeping and doing something that ultimately means having to take time out TV and books and throwing give me the highest highs in life. Anyway I do not watch TV all that much. I tend to watch DVDs more than TV, so take that critics.

My favourite film is 101 Dalmatians. As I am still smarting from not getting a real life Dalmatian for Christmas I cannot get enough of that film. And I also like Jungle Book. There are no Dalmatians in that but it just goes to show how grown-up and cosmopolitan I am for my age that I can take that with no probs.

You’d have thought Fairy Godmother Emma would have bought me a real Dalmatian for Christmas. The main duty of the Fairy Godmother is to make wishes come true. I probably need to check out her contract.

Another up and coming favourite is the Highway Rat, but that crosses boundaries, is it a DVD or a TV programme?

There’s a lot of pooey stuff on TV, Sister Freya watches it all the time.

I bet you don’t know what I mean by poo on the TV. I don’t mean soiled nappies.

When I was younger so much younger than today, my pooey nappy was quite a novelty to me. I used to try to get to it to investigate it before Mum caught me. I never did. You see poo seems to have all the qualities of Playdoh about it.

But now I’m older, whether it’s my senses developing or adults forcing their views on to me but I am starting to find poo distasteful with an horrendous smell. At times it makes me feel sick, just the feeling Sister Freya’s TV programmes induce in me. So, get this, I say her programmes are pooey. I’m surprised no one has thought of that analogy before.

Whilst talking pooey things in life, get this. Every Monday it rains. Every Monday is Learning to Swim Day. I don’t know why. Just the way God planned it when he invented the earth, like night is at night time and day is at day time and Christmas is on Sister Freya’s birthday.

So on Monday I was beside myself with excitement as Dad got us ready. “Swimming, here we come. First time in 2018, first time since Christmas and it’s not even raining”. Out of the house we went.

But we didn’t do swimming. We went to the Range searching for letterboxes! That is pooey!

That is what is pooey about life as an almost two year old. Your life is run by others less capable than yourself. Out of choice there is no way in a month of Sundays I would have chosen to go to The Range (unless it is the golf club range) instead of swimming. But no one asks me if I mind, I’m just taken and that is pooey.

And why do we need a letterbox anyway? When was the last time a letter came for me? The flap is so irritating. You have to fake a laugh and finding it entertaining when Grandad rattles it at you, just to humour him.

But when Grandad and Mamma came Wednesday, because there was not a flap on the letterbox I could peep through it and see Grandad. Grandad then put his fingers through to get me. It was brilliantly hilarious and made me laugh so much. It was so creepy! Just Grandad’s fingers and no Grandad. So who needs a flap on the letterbox? Not us. It’s a waste of money.

Another pooey moment was last Sunday. We went to Rufford Country Park with all the extended family. Mum, Sister Freya, Cousin Rory, Cousin Ewan, their Mum and Dad and Mamma & Grandad. Dad didn’t go because he likes his work so much he preferred to go to work than a day out with Grandad. I see where he’s coming from.

Now that was not a pooey thing infact it was the No.1 thing to do on a cold Sunday in January. Chasing ducks, geese and swans. Running to the edge of the lake to see if someone catches me before I fall in. Watching the cars splash through the ford. We have brilliant food and drink in the café too. Also, get this… I’m allowed to throw. Yes you heard right. I am allowed to throw…food to the water birds.

But…,(there is always a but when you are nearly two), but the pooey bit was there were lots of dead leaves and branches from all the trees. It looked so untidy, such a terrible mess. I felt it my duty to the community was to pick them up. Nobody else seemed to be doing it. But Mum stopped me. How pooey is that.

So by this time I was tired and so disappointed so I needed to sit down in the path, to recoup. The next pooey thing was that Mum made me get up and into the pushchair. I thought this was a walk. And I had already compromised, I had opted for sitting in the middle of the path rather thanwhat I really wanted which was to sit in the middle of a ginormous puddle. That was so pooey.

Parents! Your life wouldn’t be half so pooey if they didn’t interfere.

But I survived the day, lived with it and found positive things in my life, like exploring the rubbish bin at home.

Where there’s poo, there is always some goodness.

Bye, then, – George