Laying Low

We did it.

We lowered The Poop's cot to its third position. To its lowest rung. To the final level.
It's not a big deal, right?  She's safer this way. She's more secure. 


After catching her standing at the bars snatching viciously at the new blinds, while laughing (I'll give you something to laugh about lady), lowering the cot is definitely a most sensible idea. 
But now it's on the final level.

Still, after Boo's recent obsession with cutting her teeth by chomping away at the top of the wooden bar, and her general disinterest in potential splinters sharding off into her gums, dropping the cot is most certainly a good idea.

But now it's on the final level. 
Although now, as she cruises around her cot, gripping on tight to the bars as she goes, if she does stumble, she won't catch her chin on the top of the bar as she goes down. So sinking the cot to its last setting was absolutely the right thing to do.

But now it's on the final level.
The only other thing we can do with that cot now is turn it into a junior bed. That's right. A bed.

Pah! So what, you're thinking. So the cot's on its final level. So it's nearly an actual bed.
Big deal. Not bothered. Who cares?


ME. I CARE, ALRIGHT PAL?



I care that I gave birth to my daughter NOT FIVE MINUTES AGO and already we are REDUCING COTS TO THEIR FINAL LEVEL. Excuse me but...HELLO?! 
I don't believe it to be wholly unreasonable for me to feel utterly aggrieved, bereft and INCANDESCENT WITH RAGE that some insensitive joker has made off with more or less the FIRST YEAR of my little girl's life, without so much as a word to me about just WHO THE HELL THEY THINK THEY ARE TO GO TAKING OTHER PEOPLE'S STUFF LIKE THIS.

So come on. WHO WAS IT? Which UTTER BAFFOON finds it funny to go STEALING months and months of babydom from unsuspecting parents? Who is this CHILDHOOD SNATCHING COMEDIAN who is trying to play me for some COT LOWERING FOOL? 


WELL?
*murmurs from the back*
WHO?
*more intimidated muttering*
SPEAK UP I CAN'T HEAR YOU.
*one skinny man shuffles to the front and whispers in my ear*
WHAT?! TIME? TIME?! T-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-M-E?!
TIME HAS STOLEN MY DAUGHTER'S FIRST YEAR FROM ME? 
*amid bellowing, skinny man blows away*


RIGHT!
RIGHT.
I see. So that's how you want it eh? Well two can play at that game.

From here on in, Time, you disgusting little cretin, I will hit you where it hurts. I will usurp this dictatorship which you so bullishly impose on us all. In short, I pledge never to teach my daughter to -
- stand unaided
- feed herself 
- dress herself
- walk
- use the toilet
- write her name.
And she will MOST CERTAINLY NEVER LEARN TO TELL THE TIME.


So there, Mr Time, how about THAT for one in the eye?
The Poop's intellectual and physical development will never progress beyond that of a nine month old -
IN. YOUR. FACE.

Oh. I just thought that through.
Bugger.
*shuffles off in a huff, stopping occasionally to remove batteries from wall clocks*