Yo, Silence!

You said it, mate

There are many ways in which child rearing is abso-frigging-lutely crucifying. You know, the mess, the chaos, the heavy bolt that keeps them locked in the attic. But what's killing this particular kraken at the moment is the endless fucking conversation broken only by Kraken Junior's sleep. 

To think, we spent the first two years of her life encouraging her to talk and now all we want her to do is shut the fuck up. You want to know the topics of conversation that she and I covered in the ten minute car ride home from school today? No, quite, but too bad 'cos here they are:

Pooey knickers
Crimbo concert practice

Lunchtime fruit

Crimbo trees

Driving up hills

Tooting car horns

Library books

Chicken nuggets vs fish fingers
The shape of the moon

Oranges with toothpicks sticking out of them

Alien shaped sweets

Yellow cars

The dark

Eating crayons

Tunnels

Microwave popcorn

Chatting to a nearly-four year old is like being violently assaulted with the Oxford English Dictionary and left for dead amongst the shattered remains of the English language. Apart from being exhausting it's about as bewildering as you can get without your brain spilling out of your nasal cavities. 

Half the time I haven't got a fucking clue what's going on. By the time 7pm bedtime comes I'm all but weeping from the endless verbal carnage. Seriously, the goings on in Abu-Ghraib were a piece of piss compared to this. Waterboarding? Ha. Listen to the endless non-sequiturs from a child and you'd admit to wanting to shag your own grandmother if only that would make it stop.

Hopefully all of her imaginative chat will turn Kraken Junior into an erudite and garrulous adult. Problem is I'll be dead by then because I'd have stabbed myself in the ears with a sharpened toffee hammer and fed myself to a hearing dog for the deaf. So good luck to the rest of you when you meet her. You'll fucking well need it.