The parents are trying to kill me. It all started a few days ago. I was just minding my own business when Mommy pulled out a piece of paper and started wiping my nose. Now, I admit, my nose was feeling a bit funny, so I let her do it. Before I know it, she's pulling out this "medicine" stuff. "It'll make you feel better," she said.

Surprisingly, it tasted really good, which should have been my first warning sign. I never get anything that tastes really good without begging for it. It was okay at first, but the next morning my throat started to hurt really bad. I still didn't see the connection, even when Mommy insisted that I take more "medicine". Now my throat and my nose are hurting even more. My tummy doesn't feel good, and I can barely eat anything. It's official: The parents have poisoned me. Farewell to all of my loyal readers. Remember me fondly.

I moved to a new house! Apparently Mommy and Daddy didn't like it, though, because we moved back to the old one again.

It was a lot bigger than this house, but for some reason we only went into a few of the rooms. Maybe if we'd lived there longer I would have gotten to visit the rest of them. One small room had buttons on the wall that Mommy and Daddy wouldn't let me touch. The problem is, there was something structurally wrong with that room. At times it felt like the floor was falling out from under me. I did not like that. Also, I don't know why we even bothered going to that room, since Mommy and Daddy just stood there until the door opened and we left again. That's probably what made them decide to move back here.

The room we spent most of our time in had a great toy telephone. It was so cool. It had way more buttons than my phones here at the old house, and when I pressed the big red button at the bottom this guy's voice started talking. It seemed really great, but then Daddy pulled its plug and it stopped talking before I could investigate further.

The nice thing about our new house was all the cars that passed by the window. At that house there were more cars in a minute than I see in a week here, coming from every direction. All kinds of cars. Big ones. Ones with flashing lights. It was great fun, and I made sure to tell Mommy and Daddy whenever I saw one. I could have watched them all day, but for some reason Daddy wanted to leave.

In fact, we didn't spend much time at the new house. As soon as I woke up Daddy wanted to go to some other big building. I don't know what he was so excited about, but he'd stay there forever. We'd only get back to the new house when it was time for bed.

I miss my new house.

The parents don't play fair. Just the other day I discovered that they've been holding out on me. Here's what happened. A friend came over to play and mommy gave him pages with pictures but no colors on them. Then she gave him some sticks and suddenly there was color!

These sticks are the most amazing things ever! I demanded mommy give me one of them, and immediately put it to use. I spent hours putting color on every picture mommy gave me. I even put color on some pages that didn't have pictures. It was great.

Being the innovator that I am, I quickly realized that mommy had not even begun to grasp the potential of these magic color sticks. I gathered a few and hurried off to a secluded area where I could focus on my art. Fortunately, there are many large surfaces perfectly suited for coloring in the house. Unfortunately, like so many great artists who have gone before, it seems that I must suffer for my art.

Now mommy counts all of my color sticks and makes sure that I don't have any on my person before she releases me from my chair. Who knew the parents had such a hatred for art?

I have put up many frustrations from the parents. I've come to accept it as my lot in life, and try not to be too bothered by it. But when other babies start making accusations about me, I feel I must defend my honor.

For those who haven't heard these patently false allegations, I apologize for bringing these dreadful attacks to your attention. I encourage you to stop reading right now and continue with your day as though nothing had happened.

If you are still reading then I presume that you have heard these slanderous accusations and have come to me seeking the truth, which I am only too happy to provide. Let's cut right to the chase. I know there have been some whispers that I am not a baby, but am instead (please pardon my language) a "toddler". I assure you nothing could be further from the truth.

While it's true that I may be a bit bigger than some of the babies these days, nothing has changed. I may be able to walk and use the parents' language, but I am still fully committed to the mission of turning these rather miserable parents into properly grand parents. Do not listen to the rumors, my fellow babies.

As you all no doubt recall, I've never been a fan of the parents' diaper scam. Not only is it shady, but it can become quite uncomfortable. Naturally you can imagine my delight at discovering a way out of this unpleasant situation.

But first, a slight digression. The parents' one redeeming quality is their tendency to take me on car rides. I quite appreciate these outings. It's good to explore outside the house. I must write about these adventures later, but suffice it to say that I have, not to brag, spent quite a lot of time in my car seat.

The ride itself is restful, but sometimes I just don't feel like taking a nap. It's times like these that my focus turns to the oddly named "boots" that the parents insist of affixing to my feet when we leave the house. As I was examining them one car ride I noticed that applying pressure to the top of the boot resulted in a pleasant ripping sound. With a bit more pressure I was able to completely disconnect the strap that held the boot in place. I happily removed that boot, tossed it down beside the car seat, and turned my attention to the other, which responded to the like treatment.

It turns out that the diapers are attached using the same sort of magical bonding agent! Also, like the boots, if the parents are around they object strenuously if I activate said bonding agent. Fortunately, it is not difficult to find moments when their attentions are otherwise occupied. Soon the diaper was gone and glorious comfort and freedom were mine.

I wish I could end the story here, a simple story of a baby triumphing over injustice, but sadly, even the most noble of causes can be frustrated by the parents. In fact, I think their shock at my frustration of their scam has caused their intelligence to descend even further. Now they can't seem to remember how to use a diaper at all.

The other night, once the parents were safely out of sight, I prepared another masterful escape, only to find that my idiot parents had somehow managed to put the diaper on backwards! I couldn't even reach the straps that could release me from my bonds. Of course, one becomes used to the parents making horrible errors, but it keeps happening. Anyone want some parents? I'm thinking I'll put them up for adoption.

Before I begin, I'd like to thank all my fans. It's babies like you that help me carry on when faced with the sheer incompetence of the parents. I don't know how I'd have made it through the year without you.

I know it comes as no surprise that the parents have some unique quirks, and if I took time to document them all I'd never get anything else done, but have you noticed the way they eat? They put their food on tiny round trays that aren't even attached to their chairs, and then, rather than put food in their mouths with their hands like any civilized person, they poke at it with funny-shaped sticks, and whatever doesn't fall off they eat. It amuses me that they can be so slow and never realize their error. Seriously, did they forget they have fingers?

Of course, were this just another of their weird habits I would have let it slide, but now they're trying to force me to play their game. Don't get me wrong, I love playing with toys while I eat as much as the next baby, but they want me to use their sticks for every single bite. In fact, if I try to touch the food like a normal person, they stop me! I swear, I should never have started learning their language. Now they think I want to be just like them!

I never thought I'd say this, but I've been learning a lot from the parents recently. I had been puzzled by their language for some time, but I recently had a major breakthrough: when parents say something, what they actually mean is the exact opposite. I needed to share this insight with my audience, in the hopes that it will help other babies who have difficult parents.

I have compiled a simple lexicon that should help illuminate the parental tongue:

• "No" - Keep doing what you're doing as soon as we look away
• "No No No No!" - We really enjoy that. Do it a few more times and we'll give you a ride around the house.
• "Don't touch that" - Take every opportunity to touch that.
• "Leave that on the table" - Remove everything from the table.
• "Come here" - Run away.
• "Go to your room" - Visit every room in the house but your room.
• "Clean up" - Start playing with the toys on the floor.
• "Give that to me" - Eat that.

I feel confident that I will soon have finally mastered the parents' language.

Normally I like to restrict my advice to the parents, since they so desperately need it, but that does not mean that I am unaware of the failings of my own kind. No, I am always vigilant. Even virtuous beings like us babies can still have room for improvement (though we're certainly way ahead of the parents), and that is what I would like to address today.

There is a disturbing trend in babies, and I must confront it before it goes too far. There's no easy way to put it, so I'll just come out and say it: Babies are getting too small. When I first started my career as a baby, all babies were around the same size. There was some variety, but it was pretty evenly distributed. However, small is now in fashion, and it seems like every baby I meet is tiny. I'm not questioning any baby's individual right to choose to be small. That's a personal decision. But it has become a fashion, and it's getting out of hand.

I can certainly understand not wanting to be big like the parents. Obviously, whatever we can do to separate ourselves from them is a good idea, but think about what you're doing. If this trend keeps up, eventually us current babies will seem as big as the parents by comparison! Would you really want to do that to your fellow babies?

So please, before you decide that you want to be the smallest baby ever, stop and think. If we all stand together we are stronger than when every new baby thinks it has to out-small the rest of us.

As you know, I am not one to criticize the parents. The way I see it, they really can't be held responsible for their actions. So don't take this as me being unkind in any way. It's just that Mommy and Daddy really are complete idiots.

Recently I've been going through the trouble to start learning their language, or what passes for language among parentkind. What a waste of time that has been! Now that I can understand their words they seem more helpless than ever.

They're constantly losing things, and asking me to find them. A few things I can understand. "Where's the ball?" "Where's your bottle?" - I get it. There's a lot of things in this house. It's certainly possible to lose something. The problem is that the things they lose are usually right in front of them!

Not only that, but when I show them where something is, they forget about it almost instantly. They'll ask "Where's the circle?" and ten seconds after I've pointed it out to them they'll ask the same thing again! I've heard about how bad the attention span of parents can be, but I'm pretty sure Mommy and Daddy are setting a new record.

And that's still not the worst of it. Sometimes they can't even find themselves! "Where's Mommy?" Really? You're standing right in front of me! "Where's Miranda?" Okay, this is just sad.

You might think at this point that they obviously have some sort of disability, but the sad part is that it's entirely self-imposed. Mommy and Daddy are constantly wearing these odd windows on their faces. From a distance they look like any other windows, but occasionally Mommy and Daddy will put them on my face, and make a big deal out of it. Apparently they think it's hilarious.

Anyhow, these windows make everything blurry! No wonder the parents can't find anything! And yet they insist on wearing them all the time. I've tried to take them away, but they just grab them and put them back on their faces.

At this point, I'm sure there is no hope for them. They are beyond even my help.

There are many advantages to being me, yet the parents have held one virtue hostage: height. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the parents' carelessness. For example, when they accidentally happen place something out of my reach, which they do with frustrating regularity.

In the past I have been reduced to pointing and trying to make them understand their error, but, as you are only too aware, making the parents see sense is a losing battle. Fortunately, I have found a way to take the high ground in this situation. Literally.

By positioning myself atop objects I can make myself arbitrarily tall. The best part is, if a surface is too high to reach directly, a simple application of logic allows me to bring it to my level. For example, suppose that Mommy has careless left the phone on the back of the couch where it's too high for me to reach. The seat of the couch is too high for me to climb onto directly. What am I to do? I simply grab my chair, push it to the couch, climb into the chair, from there onto the couch, and just like that I have the phone, no parents required.

Naturally, this strategy works with any height. Chairs and boxes can easily be moved to new locations, and even carried to higher heights, if a direct path is not available. If you do try this strategy at home, make sure to do it quietly when the parents are not around. I have faced multiple occasions when the parents, for reasons only they know, removed an important part of my path, or even took me to another room.

Once you have reached the object you desire, there are multiple ways to get back down. If the height is not too great, I prefer the head-first method. It is direct and quick. For larger heights, the best option is to whine loudly until a parent comes and places you back on the floor.