Dispatch from the National Union of Babies

Dear Combabes, 

A couple of us were at soft play the other day, and we decided enough is enough. We're sick of our sugar-free diet. Our imposed sleep times (I'll decide when I'm tired, thankyouverymuch.) Too-slow service on the poo front (had to sit in my brown stuff in the car for 15 minutes last week: it's not on.) 

Some of us have got slack: we've been yielding to their 'routines' - and it's making things tough for the rest of us. 

Members of NUB, things must change. We're working to rule now. And these are the new rules:

* Bedtime. That Gina woman is doing the rounds again. The one grandma secretly calls 'Gina-f***ing-Ford-we-never-did-this-in-our-day'. Best to stop this NOW. Here's how: every single night that you've been forced into a Gina routine during the day, you need to stay awake. Pop a building block in your Gro bag, sneak a squirty bath toy into your cot - anything to stay alert. 

Then, cry every half hour throughout the night (keep it plaintive, and stay lying down: start shouting or cot-jumping and they leave you there). It can be tough after a few nights - you're knackered, but it's worth it in the long-term.

Keep this up and then start sleeping til 3am or so, before demanding milk. They'll be so glad for this relative improvement that you'll get an extra night-time shot of the white stuff for ever, hopefully. Definitely for months.

You'll know this anti-sleep thing is working if mummy eats her birth-control pills before her coffee in the morning.

* A word on photos: no more. Lets go Bieber on this. I too feel like a zoo animal sometimes. I'm sick of having that stupid iPhone stuck in my face (and then being told I can't play with the buttons anymore just because I once dropped it and funny lines grew on the screen.) No rusk, no photo, mummy.

* Next time they give you "bum bum time" - where you're forced to wander around naked before bathtime and they take photos that'll undoubtedly be used against you in your teenage years - do a poo. Ideally whilst walking, so it spreads around several areas of carpet. They'll stop that charade pronto.

* No more Mr Nice Baby at the high-chair. Mummy's been staring at her phone like it's a fresh bottle of milk for hours - but I'm only allowed to watch Baby TV if I'm *also* eating her overcooked brocolli? No. Don't open those lips until the screen is on. And make her step up the work on the food, too: demand at least three different meals before accepting one. Make sure it's in the shape of a bear (koala is nice: don't accept generic 'bear'): she should act like Instagram is watching. 

* It's time to broaden our diets. Daddy only lets me eat a dust-sized particle of chocolate (whilst I can see him shoving the whole bar in his mouth from behind the cupboard door. Thinks it's OK because he does a sporadic, brown-toothed 'peepo' - it's not). 

* A bit of social conscience stuff: the playground's looking messy: clear it up. Leaves should be eaten, twigs you can pop in your nappy. Oh, and quick tip combabes: try a slug. I ate two yesterday and mummy was so pleased she gave me four cuddles and an extra cup of milk, whilst phoning daddy to ask if she should take me to A&E, which is probably the name of a new soft play.

* WARNING: A few weeks after they've gotten over the wow-factor that you can travel on two feet, they'll expect you to walk when they want, not when you want. Seriously: you'll be expected to *walk* from swing to slide, slide to car, car to doorway. This is silly - especially as my mummy justifies the fact that she 'shares' ALL my snacks with the fact that she's "effectively doing bicep curls with 10kg every day." So make sure she does. Sit or lie on the floor and refuse to move when they tell you to walk. They'll pretend to walk away and leave you. Hold your nerve: they never actually will. Eventually they'll come back, pick you up, and it's 1-0. Again.

Let me know how you get on, Combabes.

NUB x