A Guest Blog

By Helga

            Hello.  It’s me, Helga.  With an “a,” not an “e.”  With the “e” it’s a boy’s name and I’m a girl.  Or so they tell me.

            I’m Canadian but I was born in Germany.  My parents, Pemulis and Joelle, are obviously confused.  I should have been born in Canada.  But I wasn’t.  I hope this won’t be a problem for me in the future.  I hope that when I go to school in a couple of years they won’t look at me all weird like and go, “Oh, she’s really Canadian.”  As if that were a major drawback or something.  As if I had to like Margaret Atwood, which I don’t.  That is, what I’ve read of hers hasn’t pleased me.  Pat the Bunny is a much better novel than The Handmaid’s Tale.  The characterization has so much more depth.  I mean, there’s Paul and Judy and Mummy and Daddy and they’re very real people with real feelings, not to mention a ring and a scratchy face.  Whereas The Handmaid’s Tale is some kind of futuristic schlock.  I didn’t care for it.

            But then I’m a picky reader.  And a picky eater.  Milk and cookies is about all I like at the moment.  Milk and cookies and Pat the Bunny.  And my Mom.  And my Dad.  But he’s into weird computer stuff that I don’t really get.  My Dad is a “data scientist,” which is a fancy term for “computer geek.”  That’s just my opinion, of course.  And I’m only 2 months old, so I could change my mind before another 10% of my life has gone by.  Which would be next Thursday.

            I’m learning new words every day.  Today I learned a German word: scheisse.  It’s a very useful word.  For instance, I’ve just taken a nasty scheisse and I need someone to get rid of it for me.  Hang on while I make my needs known.

            “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa . . . .”

            (Much later)

            Wow, I must have slept in.  It’s 3 AM and I’m usually up by 2.  However, after that nasty scheisse and a quick bath and a change of clothes, I was starving and my Mom fed me and then I fell asleep and when I woke up I was in my bed and . . . hang on while I wake my parents.

            “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa . . .”

            (Later)

            OK, that’s better.  It’s 3:30 AM and I’m ready to face the day.  Let’s go for a walk, Mom.  Or let’s wake up Dad and make him walk with us.  We’re a tight-knit family, my parents and me.  Wherever I go, they want to go too.  It’s touching.

            Next time I’ll tell you about my toys.  I can see them, but I can’t touch them.  Toys are like celebrities—you see them everywhere, but you can’t touch them.  When I get older, I’m going to grab all my toys and stuff them into my mouth and see if they taste any better than milk.  It’s not likely.