Uno.

Hi there, Noah here.

So The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy claims that she was already too mushy about me last week, and I’m only entitled to one mushy post per diaper size. 

So, says she, if I wanted a birthday post, I was going to have to jolly well write it myself.

Typical – the second child always gets the shaft, don’t they?

I digress.

It’s really okay, because I don’t mind going on and on and on about myself – I mean, what more interesting subject could there be??

Well, maybe remote controls and phones.

So, its been good to be 0, but I’ve really been looking forward to 1. Its really a vast exponential increase, if you think about it. Way bigger than 4 to 5, like that little girl that lives here. I mean, I’m about to be an integer with VALUE rather than a numerical placeholder for nothing!

So with my newfound age of numerical significance, I’m looking for some upgrades in privilege and responsibility. Kicking my morning nap to the curb. Trying to walk. Maybe petition for a bigger allowance. Maybe I’ll even Occupy the Kitchen and be a little more demanding with my dietary requirements.

(I’m getting the feeling like the Mommy spigot may be cut off soon, anyway.)

Speaking of, I better back off with the new teeth. Instead, I’m practicing some fierceness to help enforce my demands. I expect significant results.

Whatever.

So anyway, it’s been an interesting year.  A year ago today, I was torturing The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy in a way that she had never experienced before.

But I have to say. When I read all of your sympathetic “Oh poor pitiful Mommy” comments on her post, I just shook my head.

Um, HELLO??

Did you SEE my head after they finally got me out of there?

You know what happens when you try to fit a soccer ball through a keyhole? It ends up looking like a football. 

And getting STUCK. 

Sure, the keyhole might be a little uncomfortable, but the SOCCER BALL JUST GOT TURNED INTO A FOOTBALL.

Anyway.  I’m glad I got that off of my chest.

Once I got over the whole eviction trauma, it didn’t take the servants long to start finding new and more humiliating ways to heap affliction on me.

There was the facial hair incident…

And the dress situation…

And the Cousinly Invasion of Personal Space occurrence.

But that’s okay, because I was a master at escaping all of their attempts in keeping me repressed.

Also? The Servants tasted pretty good.

But primarily, I spent my first year perfecting my unbelievably fantastic talent in the art of Facial Expressionism.

And so, at this time, in celebration of my birthday, with all of the pomp and circumstance a one year old can muster, I’d like to present my first art collection, a year in the making, for your enjoyment.

“Bald Monkey” 

“Betrayal”

“They Feed Me Dog Food”

“How YOU Doin’?”

“The Loaded Diaper of Happiness”

“Sucking Face.”

“Kiss me, beneath the evening starlight.”

“I Scoff at Your Poo-Wiping Abilities.”

“But Wait! If you call right now, we’ll double your order!!”

“If I stay really still I might not spew goldfish chunks.”

“Future Biggest Loser”

Overall, it’s been a good year.  For me, and for The Servants. 

But how could it not be?  They’ve had ME to look at for twelve months.

Okay.  I’m off to bury my face in a cake, and I will make sure that the event deserves an immediate bath. It’s gonna take me a solid 12 hours to sleep off this party.

So it’s time to get my Uno on. And the best birthday present of all: I still get full diaper service for another year!

Score!!