Twitchers

On a quiet day

Why in the fuck didn’t anyone tell me that when I gave birth it would not be to a human being but to a perpetual motion machine? You know, I once saw a perpetual motion machine at the Boston Science Museum. I thought it was a work of genius. Genius, my hairy arse. Next to four year old Kraken Junior it’s got all the motion of my lower bowel after a large omelette.

Jesus, how can anything move so much and so often without being experimented on in a laboratory? Kraken Junior is never knowingly conscious and still. She jigs, twitches, dances, waggles and jerks and that’s just when she’s sitting at the table to eat. I’m seriously wondering whether she’s missing a substantial part of her sweltering brain.

The fact is that this endless bouncing of hers is driving me around the fucking twist. It’s like being tortured by the Iraqis, you know where you get woken up every five minutes to partake of disturbing images. I swear I have to leave her company at regular intervals just to rest my eyeballs. They spin in my ocular nooks like an aging raver on bad skag.

Course, it’s great that she’s an active little kraken but she’s burning off calories faster than I can wedge them into her. I’m starting to wish she was one of the fat kids who spend eight hours a day glued to the telly. At least she’d be in the same position after each of my fevered blinks.

So, is this normal? Does every four year old twitch as if they’ve wedged a piece of Lego up their fundament? And if so, how in the frig am I, the Kraken, expected to survive it, especially seeing as polite society frowns upon the use of basements and restraints?

Oh, don’t tell me. Resistance is futile, isn’t it? So instead of fighting it perhaps I can turn it to my advantage. Once I get Conjugal Kraken to pin her down I’m going to surgically attach mop heads and dusters to her ever-frisking limbs before retiring to my bed. Kraken Junior can be put to good use, the cave will finally stay clean and I can sport a cold flannel over my eyes for the next ten years. Win win, innit. Well, innit?