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Ever wondered what your adorable, lovable, perfect little angel of a one-year-old is thinking (as she scales the coffee table and puts used tissues into her mouth)? We tapped the brain of one willing participant to bring you this play-by-play.

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5:46 a.m. Hello, beautiful Saturday morning! Time to get up and start bashing my fists against the side of the crib while screaming "Elmo! Dadda! Waffle!"

5:50 a.m. What's that? The sound of Mama reluctantly coming to get me. I'll just lie back down like maybe I was going to go back to sleep but then pop right back up when she tries to tiptoe out of the room because...gotcha!

6:30 a.m. Ooh, bananas are my favorite.

6:31 a.m. Wait, something about these bananas is off... Is it the texture? The mealiness? The fact that today they're cubed and yesterday they were halved?

6:32 a.m. Anywho, probably best to smear them into my hair and then fling the rest against the wall while screaming "Nanna Nanna Nanna" as if I actually wanted them in the first place.

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9:05 a.m. What's this now? You're getting me ready to go outside? I love going outside!

9:07 a.m. But holy mother of God what is this "sun hat" you just put on my head? 

9:08 a.m. You say I have to wear it? OK, suit yourself but I am so going to throw it over the side of my stroller when you're busy making small talk with the crossing guard and then be all like, "Hat? What hat?"

9:27 a.m. OK, we're finally out the door! The perfect time for me to poop.... Ah, I'd really been holding that one in.

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9:41 a.m. Oh hello, playground. Hello, swing. Hello, tiny piece of broken Nerf ball that I will proceed to play with for the next six minutes.

9:55 a.m. Hello, butch-looking woman in cargo pants who I will point at and call "Dadda" until Mom wants to crawl into the covered slide and hide for the rest of eternity.

10:00 a.m. Hello, Carter from playgroup. I'll come say hi by stumbling over like a drunk person, then tackling you to the ground. Then I'll take your toy truck because it's the best thing I've ever seen--even though I have the same one at home and have never once shown interest in it.

10:25 a.m. OK, heading home. I'll just rest my eyes in this stroller...

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10:38 a.m. Oh, I'm awake! I'm awake! And what's this now? A nap? Oh noooo, you misunderstood, Mom. That two minutes of stroller shut-eye actually counted as my nap and now I'm fully rested and ready to cling to your knees and demand "Old Macdonald" for the next two hours in which you were planning to get some work done.

10:39 a.m. But don't worry. If your work involves using the fridge/your computer/the vacuum, I'm sure I can be of service by a) reaching in and grabbing the mustard, b) jamming my fingers on the keyboard and typing "ai;dfgjrrgraaa" or c) screaming bloody murder until you’ve given up and decided we all just need to learn to live with filth.

10:50 a.m. Speaking of filth... what's this fabulous dust ball I spy in the corner of the bathroom?

10:51 a.m. OMG OMG OMG I could look at this thing all day. This is the best. Like, seriously, I think I can see humanity's entire past, present and future in this hairball.

11:01 a.m. I can’t believe you were just going to throw this away.

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11:45 a.m. All right! Dad's back from the gym. I’ll run and greet him with a thousand kisses and basically be my most charming, well-behaved self for the next 20 minutes until Dad's like, "Aren't we lucky to have such an easy kid?" and Mom rolls her eyes and says something about getting 40 stupid minutes to herself.

11:47 a.m. Oh boy...where did Mama go...where the hell did she go? I am freeeeaking out here. Because OBJECT PERMANENCE BITCHES.

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12:13 p.m. Man, Dadda does not understand anything about serving lunch. For starters, he has basically just given me an entire bagel and fist-sized chunk of apple off of which he did not peel the skin. Also, is he aware that my juice is supposed to be watered down…because this is clearly 100 percent unadulterated O.J.?

12:15 p.m. Not that I’m complaining.

12:19 p.m. Good grief this O.J. is like crack. I can’t wait to reject that watered-down crap the next time Mom gives it to me.

12:25 p.m. And it turns out I can fit half a bagel in my mouth, as long as nobody minds if I start gagging like a drowning victim every 45 seconds.

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1:30 p.m. OK, dudes. I’m fading. Somebody wrap me in a wearable blanket and turn on my white noise machine and let’s all pretend it’s not bright as hell in my room because those blackout shades are a lie.

1:32 p.m. I wonder what Mama’s doing right now. I should probably stand up and scream her name seven times in a row.

1:34 p.m. Ah screw it. Fine, I’ll sleep.

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3:45 p.m. I’m up! I pooped! Come get me! WHY IS NOBODY GETTING ME?

3:46 p.m. Oh, hey Mom. Any chance you could do the “this little piggy” thing that I love so much? I could really go for some piggy action right about now.

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4:15 p.m. Ooh car trip. I wonder where we’re going. I’ll just wait out the suspense by screaming “Ee-eye-ee-eye-oh” at the top of my lungs while we sit in traffic.

4:31 p.m. The supermarket. Interesting. Nicely done, Mother. 

4:36. Yes! Riding in the shopping cart. I am all about that #shoppingcartlife.

4:37 p.m. Oh hey, deli counter. Hey, stack of dinner rolls. Hey, lemons and pears. Hey, banan…. 

4:38 p.m. Oh dear God, it’s bananas. Bananas! Bananas! Guys, do you guys see that giant tower of bananas calling out to me like some golden gateway to Eden? I will now wildly thrash my arms and throw my Cheerios over the side of the cart and yell all 12 of my words until somebody--anybody--lets me eat a banana. 

4:39 p.m. It worked! Score! A banana!

4:41 p.m. Eh, bananas are overrated.

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6:00 p.m. Yay! Dinner! Peas! Noodles! That brown whole wheat quinoa thing everyone keeps trying to make happen. Seriously guys--I want simple carbs.

6:10 p.m. Also, I pooped again and put some peas down my onesie.

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6:45 p.m. La la la la... bath time with Dadda. So into this bath. So into this rubber duck. So into this boat. What the what... water on my head! Water on my head! Abort abort abort.

6:58 p.m. Phew. All dried off and sitting patiently on the sofa for somebody to bring me a diaper. I should probably pee a little bit like 15 seconds before they put it on me.

7:12 p.m. Ooh, I have a great idea for story time. What if--and just hear me out here--we read Goodnight Moon for the 760th time ever? I'll be really into it for like the first two pages. Then I'll start pointing at everything in the room and be like "dat? dat? dat?" Then, when Mama actually gives in and starts naming the things, I'll wriggle out of her arms, throw the book on the floor and go turn the white noise machine on and off a hundred times. Good plan, yes?

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7:20 p.m. Getting sleepy over here. Perhaps I should fight it by bashing my head into the wall and trying to remove my pajama pants.

7:26 p.m. OK, OK, I give in. I'm beat. Sing me a song, dear Mother, and make it snappy. 

7:27 p.m. Oh, wow. Mama has the best voice. She could honestly audition for American Idol. Her rendition of "Hush, Little Baby" (with 10 percent of the lyrics made up) is truly the melody of angels.  

7:28 p.m. I love her. I love this. I shall now drift off, dreaming of hairballs...

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