Exhausted!

That’s me at the end of the day. You would be too if you were in my shoes (socks actually) and had my mom and dad for parents.

I need a lawyer (not my mom please) to sue my parents for baby labor and harassment. Imagine the things they make me do. I have to drink 6 ounces of milk (at least six bottles in a day) through a tiny hole on the tip of a rubber nipple. Try doing that yourself and tell me if you don’t develop jaw and neck muscles after the first bottle.

Each morning, I have a tug-o-war with my dad over my favorite book. I love “Fuzzy Bee and Friends” so why doesn’t he let me eat them? Oh yeah, he lets me use his body to wall climb. But try it yourself with only nostrils to latch your fingers on.

I also can’t have a stretch of undisturbed sleep with them around. As soon as I’ve fallen sleep, my dad would nibble on my nose and say “this is the best gummy bear I’ve ever tasted. He would also poke my cheeks with his fingers as though he was trying to puncture a balloon. And oh, he has been using me as weights for his bench press exercises as soon as I reached the 10 pound mark.

Although I’m barely six months old, I’ve already been to boot camp. They’d make me lie on my tummy, put my favorite rattle a foot away from me and order me to crawl and get it.

And there’s the endless photo sessions without any talent fee. My mom and dad just click away and have me strike a different pose each time they order me to smile for the camera.

I have a case against my Yaya too. She wrestles with me until I’m red in the face when all I want is to bite her nose and see if it’s better than my teether. My Lola too pesters with her constant sniffing and Halloween inspired laughter.

I could go on and on but that would be be ungrateful of me don’t you think? What else can I do but to try to understand adults and the deprived childhoods they had.