Hi! Noah here.
Clearly, you’ve arrived to celebrate my third birthday and wish me tidings of great joy.
And I’m totally down with that.
That’s what the comment section is for…down at the bottom of this post – after I’ve made your year with a review of mine.
But the servants have been complaining that I didn’t give them enough positive feedback in my last birthday post, so I’ve decided to write The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy’s Entire Annual Review as a part of my birthday celebration.
That’ll teach her.
We all know that it’ll be a valuable lesson, because she is SO high maintenance.
I get the feeling she thinks just because she allowed some doctor to rip her abdomen open to pry me out, that she’s due my unconditional love and adoration for eternity future.
First of all, that’s a disgusting way to welcome me to the world.
Second of all, she’s so obviously a victim of our entitlement society.
I don’t do love hand-outs, lady.
So. Let’s talk about the stuff we didn’t like first.
Despite the fact that they don’t even manufacture them in my size, she still dressed me in rompers. Could she not hear the screams of agony from my nether regions??
The DiaperToe Travesty: Where is Child Services when you need them?
She took a short-lived but entirely unrequested expedition into the world of potty-training.
Not cool, NOT. COOL.
I had to refuse to poop for twenty days to help her grasp the girth of that mistake.
And after that twenty days was up, grasp it did she.
Instead of sending The Sister Who Calls Herself Ali to school like a normal mother so that she could give me all of her attention AS IT SHOULD BE, she kept her home and used the first day as an excuse to mock me!
AND THEN tortured me with Field Trip Nightmares.
AS IF I’M OLD ENOUGH TO WITHSTAND SUCH AGONY.
In her Social Media performance, she had pluses and minutes.
On the one hand, she finally loosed me from this horrible font and let me actually talk in my brilliant vlogging series, but then she used my likeness without my permission to create TWO MORE MEME POSTS. In one year.
Like this one? SO did not happen.
Because I only eat ladybugs.
I hope all those Hey Girls were worth it for you, internet.
Because she’s going to find herself slapped with a trademark lawsuit as soon as I’m old enough to write.
Now. Let’s talk about her positive performance this year.
She fed me fresh, raw and organic foods,
opened my eyes to the circus,
Took me to the real races,
(Where I played up my Fear Factor so convincingly that she let me sleep in her bed for the first time ever. Am I good or what?)
She taught me the fine art of Selfies on a Boat,
She didn’t get mad when she caught me reading The Sister Who Calls Herself Ali’s diary,
She somehow made me FLY, and let me tell you that is an awesome memory for any boy,
She never dressed me in smock, not even on Easter Sunday,
And she let me run around in the rain with a bucket on my head.
So I guess she’s not TOO abominable, anyway.
Oh – wait. I have a feeling she’s about to subject you to a twelve-month anthology of my face. So that takes away a few points.
Then again, that much of me can’t be a bad thing, now can it?