An Open Letter to My Mummy… (A #WallyBubba Post)

Dear Mummy,


I love you.

But. This shit has gotta stop.

I’m not a baby anymore. I’m two now. That makes me nearly a grown up. And you nearly dead.

And you need to find a way to deal with that. Before you’re too old to fetch my yoghurt and shit.

The thing is… I can do stuff for myself now. I don’t really need you (except for yoghurt related activity but we’ll touch on that another time…)

Stop holding my hand on the way into nursery – YOU’RE ONLY EMBARASSING YOURSELF. Also – pavements are for the weak. I need to express myself in the middle of the road… Everyone knows that’s where the best puddles are. (Everyone who’s not nearly dead anyway…) And how many times do I have to tell you I can put my shoes on myself? Albeit only onto my left hand, but THAT’S THE WAY I LIKE IT. OK.

NAPPIES. ARE. FOR. BABIES. I shan’t be needing mine anymore thank you. And while we’re at it; someone has pissed on the floor and taken a shit on the sofa. Best clean it up before one of the cats eats it.

Crayons DO NOT allow me to fully release my creative potential… I’ve moved on. I’m all about felt tips now. And I mean the proper non-washable ones lady. Jeeeeeez. And I can administer my own Calpol now. So cut the fricking umbilicabickable cord will you.


We’ve spoken about this on multiple previous occasions, and I’ve provided you with a comprehensive list of my preferred dietary needs (Pizza, Yoghurt and Pizza-Yoghurt.) YET… you still insist on smothering all manner of things in cheese thinking this will somehow ‘fool me’ into eating it… I’m not a twat mother. I can smell the secret peas in my lasagne from the living room you treasonous skank.
And what the f@*k was that ‘risotto’ shit you tried to poison me with last night?! Frankly, that turd on sofa looked more appealing…

On a side note – Seriously, it’s February tomorrow and the paddling pool is still in the garden. I think you have issues of the head.

So.

I’m writing to let you know it’s time I moved on. Made my own way. Found myself…

I’ve decided to take my chances in a one-toddler-jazz-xylophone-band and travel the lands performing at soft play venues…

Don’t try to follow me. I’ll have you stabbed.

Yours,

WallyBubba xx

P.s. I have the shoes. And the felt tips. And a calpol syringe. 

Wot So Funee?

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  1. The Brick Castle January 31, 2014
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  20. Sarah Bonner June 4, 2016

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