I’m one year old! On the day I turned one, I had cake. A round, fat one. Mum put it on the table in front of me, and I gazed at it in wonder. It looked more delicious than banana ice cream. It seemed only suitable to delve my fingers into it to get a big hunk of it into my mouth. But then mum set fire to it! I thought a tragedy of Titanic proportions was about to unfold. Much to my relief, someone nearby took a deep breath and sharply blew it out; I was about to take a deep breath in order to voice my distress.
So I finally got a piece of bliss. It tasted so wonderful it was like there was a party in my mouth. And there was a bit of a party on my cheeks and down my front as well – I was a little impatient after the first mouthful. And then a few seconds later, it was all gone. Dad gave me a little more, but it disappeared quicker than the first piece. Why can’t things like this last longer? And dad said I’ll have to wait another year to get more! What am I supposed to do until then?!
We have a spaceship in our house. It sits in a little room and tries taking off once in a while. It is a silver capsule inside a white box. It isn’t very streamlined, like a rocket, so I find it hard to believe that it actually gets off the ground. It is also plugged into the wall, so if it managed to get airborne, I don’t know how it travels very far.
But I think it does go somewhere. Mum puts stuff inside it and then it starts spinning; when I have a look later on, it’s empty. When the spaceship is quiet and still, I open the round door and take a look at the inside, and all I can find are lots of little holes. I once put a toy in there; when I looked later on, it was gone! Some space monkey on the moon now has company.
I have a bike. It’s red and blue and yellow and I love it. Dad puts on my hat, straps me to my bike seat while I grab the handlebars. I look very cool. I ride around the neighbourhood, up and down different streets, to and from the shops, and past outdoor cafes where all the girls smile at me. Dad cramps my style a bit though; he always follows behind, wearing daggy shorts, holding a handle at the back as I pull him around.
Walking: so there is appeal to it. I try it once in a while, and I think it holds some promise as a means of travel. The only downside is that I’ve further to fall, which seems to happen quite a bit at the moment. I’ve decided I’m going to give up crawling once I can make my feet work properly - they seem to get in the way rather than keep me upright. But once I’ve mastered it, I reckon I’ll be able to move more quickly so it’ll be easier to follow mum and dad around the house.