Well, hello there! I've managed to force Him to go to work, and get this page of mine onto the Web, and about time too. The world can't wait two weeks to hear about my exploits - whole countries have been overrun in that length of time.
Anyway, as I'm sure you know, I managed to get out of that place Right On Time by kidding Them that my heartrate was a bit dicky. My birth was painless, but a helluva squeeze. She was knackered, too much Porklife - get some exercise! I just lay there not breathing. First test of Control - let Them know who's boss. He just stood there gawping. Had him worrying about me within 10 seconds - excellent! The midwife whipped me away, though, and spoilt the effect somewhat - I could have milked that worry for another couple of minutes.
So back I came, swaddled in beautiful Good Hope Hospital blankets, for my first proper look at Them. Do you know, I ordered smart parents last Christmas, and what do I get? Some lanky grey-haired nerd, and a loudmouth, opinionated trainer. I'll be testing Her when I get to the potty stage, I can tell you.
I played up about the eating business too. You don't want to show too much willing, or They will take you for granted. And I screamed a little, to give the lungs a bit of practise. The hospital was OK, but too many other kids vying for attention, so I buckled down to the milk after about 4 days, so I could go home.
Home we go! And He goes to register my name, James Edwin Taylor. I was looking forward to being a Charlesworth-Taylor, and screwing up all those credit cards that can't have more than 18 letters, but no - it's just Taylor, plain Taylor. That grunge middle name of Edwin is the family name. My only consolation is that I can pull the same trick on my offspring. She thinks JET is quite sweet. I let Them know that playing TLA's is not on, and threw a colic attack. Mind you, it could have been worse, my cousin is BMW...
Now we're home, I have Them trained to run at my every hiccup. I think this world domination stuff is rather easier than I thought. I've got midwife and the doctor eating out of my hand, too. Suckers. I can't wait to get speaking and tell Them what I want for Christmas. Trouble is speaking early is a sign of intelligence, and They will start buying me dull presents - prehaps I'll keep quiet for anther year, or so.
Hopefully, the next time He updates my page, He'll bother to get my handsome visage onto a Photo-CD, so you can swoon over me. Remember, girls, my gigolo rates are very reasonable. Book now, for October, 2008.
The story continues...