Brookie
I’m here today to tell my side of the story. First of all, these people that call themselves my parents, treat me like I am a baby and try to put me to sleep at 7:30. I mean, come on, I am fixing to turn 3, I’m not a baby anymore! When I go to sleep I can hear them watching movies and having fun. So. Not. Fair. Even the dog gets to stay up past 7:30. And for this reason, I vow to employ every stall tactic I can think of. They are my puppets and I have them exactly where I want them. I ask them repeatedly to go fetch me milk, to find books that I hide around the house (and I tell them exactly where they are only after they are exhausted from searching), to go find Peep and Baby, wherever they might be, and I ask for repeated trips to go “potty.” Want to know a secret? I only pretend to go potty…He he he. But hey, I’m just doing my thing, doing what kids are supposed to do. And I’m supposed to shatter that nap window. Like destroy it into a million pieces. And to do this, I like to see just how many times I can get them to go fetch for me. So far the record is 15 times. I hope to make it to 20. Hey, even kids have to set goals. I like to reach the point where it is too late to nap and it would interfer with bedtime and then I can truly just be me. Just me feeling free. My parents call it “delirious.” That must mean I’m some sort of rock star, which I am. And don’t think I’m falling for the evil eye that they try to give me to show that they are at the end of their ropes. Asking for things 15 times isn’t easy either. In my defense, I really did need to try to go potty even though it wouldn’t come out, and I’m sure there are other valid reasons, but I just can’t remember. Oh and thanks for the extra sips of milk…oh that’s right, I had to have apple juice because we were out of milk. Daddy has two kinds of potato chips and Mommy has about 10 kinds of candy and desserts and I can’t even have a glass of friggin’ milk? Life is so not fair.

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