An 8-Month-Old's Lament

It's morningI'm hungry.

Someone's awake. I can see a light on in the apartment through the crack in my door. If I talk, they'll come and get me.

I talked. They didn't come. I'll talk again.

Oh. I see my favorite toy hanging from the wall. Okay, so it's my favorite toy insofar as it's the only thing that appears to be in reach and interesting at this very moment. If I pull myself up on the side of the crib, I can get to it...
...the AGONY! I can't stay standing long enough to really catch hold. Now I'm pissed.

I'm also cold. Probably because my genius Daddy dressed my ass in short sleeves last night.

Speaking of my ass, though now in the literal sense, I've got so much old, compressed poop caked to it that I bet you could mine enough coal out of there to heat this damn room and compensate for genius Daddy and his short-sleeve fetish. What's more, the moisture from the poop long ago seeped out through my clothes, and now my belly is wet. No doubt, that's contributing to the fact that I am FUCKING FREEZING!

God, this is uncomfortable. Will someone come and get me? Please? Now? Now! Now! Now! Now! Now! Now! Now! Now! Now! Now! Now!