Daxohol

RE: What the Hell Do You Think You're Doing?!

Mumma,

Seriously.  Where are you going all the time?  Did I give you permission to leave?  Dada has been picking up your slack though while you go off and do whatever the hell it is that you do.  He is doing a fantastic job as well.  I have come to realize that perhaps Dada is even better than you with some things.  Like putting me to nap.  I like to nap for at least an hour and a half when he puts me down.  You thought you had it great before.  As your punishment, I have decided that I shall only nap for 20 minutes when you put me down for my naps.  I'll also get up between 4-6 in the morning and take my time (about an hour or so) going back to sleep.  Yes, that's right, my classic move.  Sleep deprivation.

I don't know what possessed you Mumma.  You can be replaced.  Mumma's are dime a dozen you know.  That's right, you thought I'd be the typical baby and be all "waaaaaaaaah! My mommy is leaving! poor little me! I'm so hurt and distraught!  I have separation anxiety!  whoa is me! I want my mama!".  Ha!  Dada is so much fun I barely notice your gone.  My punishments are not an act of pathetic need.  They are an exercise of my power to run your life and effect you on your deepest levels. 

You forget who you are dealing with Mumma.  Feel my wrath. 

Daxon

Re: Why Don't You Take Some And Shove It!

Dear Mumma,

Listen, I know I'm starting to "talk".  However, you need to stop insisting that I say "some" when I want more food.  I will whine and bitch and you will cater to it and like it.  "Some" is a waste of precious articulation reserved only for saying useful words like "fish" "dada" "baba" or "baow" - which is ball incidently.

I really would appreciate it if you would please refrain from your enouragement of clear communication.  Meal times are the only time I really make sure that I have you where I want you.  I mean really...what are you going to do? Not give me my peas?  Eat them yourself! BWAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!

Really Mumma you are a tool.

Signed,

Daxon

RE: What the Hell

Dear Mumma,

I feel like shit.  Why can't I breathe out of my nose?  It angers me that I can't sleep properly.  It's bad enough that I have to succumb to this "sleep" reflex in the first place (I might miss something, like you playing with my toys without my permission, or that darling kitty licking itself where his diaper should be.  Don't you ever diaper that thing?)

Surely you must have some sort of Goop you can apply to me to make this stuffiness better?

Signed,

Daxon

RE: Too Far

Mumma,

Your putting sour milk on my "Tony Danza" has crossed the line.  Now you are just being plain stupid.  Don't you know that putting rotting nurishment on someones genitals is just absurd?  You've been warned.  If this continues I may have to climb the Rubbermaid Bins constantly.

Signed,

Daxon

RE: Goop

Dear Mumma,

What is with your obsession with putting goop in my hair 3 times a day and putting more goop on my "Tony Danza" (that's my pee pee in case you didn't get the memo).  I will address these topics one at a time so that you may clearly understand.  In recent days, this issue you keep refering to as "Cradle Cap" (I call it "My Head Is Falling Apart") has been annoying the hell out of me and I really don't understand the connection between my itchy head and your attacks with the goop.  If my hairs are bothering me, why bother me further with goop? Are you really that stupid?  Do you really think that your relentless goop smearings are going to somehow distract from the irritation of my OWN HEAD?  I pull my hairs to teach them a lesson and I don't need your goopings.

As for my Tony Danza.  This far worse than my head.  Do you not realize the amount of pain I was in? Taking a pee was horrible!  What the hell was that?  Then you started with that OTHER goop!  Wait a second, come to think of it, My peeing has become normal again...perhaps your goop...no no.  That isn't possible.  You are just a pest.  You must stop with the goop or I will put you on probation and cut your salary. 

Signed,

Daxon

RE: Changing Me

Dearest Mumma,

I ask you this in order to preserve my sanity.  Why must you interrupt my important developmental play time with your maniacal diaper changing.  I mean really!  Are you out of your mind? There are Peek-a-Blocks that are in desperate need of being whacked onto the floor and you answer my wrinkly-faced whiny request to service my diaper at that precise moment?  I can wallow in my own filth and continue to whine longer whilst I whack the Peek-a-Blocks until I deem them whacked enough. Then you may service my diaper.  I just don't understand why you cannot complete you tasks at the precise moment I actually want them to be completed.  Not a moment sooner or later.  Do I not make myself clear?   

Mumma, there is also the matter of your relentless insistence that I lie flat on my back for the duration of the diaper change.  Why? Can't you remove the soiled diaper and clean my bottom while I crawl?  Is it really that necessary to prevent me from getting my exercise?  Seriously Mumma, you gave birth to me and I was ten and one half pounds.  Surely you can handle changing me while I crawl.  You are indeed a joke to laugh about around the Counting Caterpillar at Playgroup. 

I do hope that this diaper changing ritual will improve.  By the way, I heard you mentioning something about a "Musical Potty" in our inventory.  The musical part sounds quite fun, but the "Potty" thing has me concerned.  Will this device annoy me?  Surely this policy will never come into effect.  At least not for a while yet.

With Regards,
Daxon

RE: Snowsuits and Carseats

Dear Mumma,

I understand that I have screamed at you relentlessly every single time you try to put on my snowsuit or buckle me into the carseat.  It really annoys me and cuts into my busy play schedule.  I can't tell you how much of an inconvenience the snowsuit is.  I rather enjoy the outings, but the snowsuit really makes me angry.  You can be quite unreasonable you know.  But today, today Mumma, though I screamed as you forced it onto me, I was thankful.  Once that wretched cold air hit my face, I finally had a slight idea of why you are so insistent on the damn snowsuit.  Only a slight idea though.  I still hate it and will continue to scream on principle.  I decided I would allow you to strap me in the carseat as a reward.  A reward for what? I'm not sure.  I suppose that if you had something to do with my being that much warmer, you perhaps deserve to strap me into the stupid seat minus my wrath.  Speaking of the seat.  Is it really necessary?  I mean, I much prefer to climb and flail around freely, you know this Mumma, yet you keep restraining me in the seat when we go out?  Why? Why do you have to be so excessive Mumma? WHY?

I shall anticipate your diligent response in a timely fashion.

Signed,

Daxon