There is nothing worse than living in a light house when you can’t swim and you can’t row. Obviously, these were two factors no one considered when moving in. We moved in 25 days ago, and I was 256 days old. I was able to crawl, I had two teeth and I had absolutely no say in the matter. My father was given the job opportunity, and we uprooted our lives in the city to embark upon an adventure managing the beautiful red and white lighthouse. And apparently Mother and Father were pretty pleased to be free of the neighbours who complained daily about my nightly screams. I, truthfully, couldn’t care less, as long as I could continue to cry. The first few days were fine. I still had dinner on time, could nap when I wanted, and could still giggle at the blue cup on the kitchen side. It has a little face on it that seems to be grinning. The parents never really notice how much I can take in. Just because I don’t have the speech mastered yet, doesn’t mean I don’t have the words or the awareness. So I have to rely on the screams and the giggles. The cup was great. But the lighthouse, it wasn’t good. Firstly, I started to notice we didn’t have the neighbours now. That meant I had less of an audience for my shouting, and the outbursts began to lose their meaning. Why cry if no one hears? Then, I got sick. It started with my third tooth coming through, and I got ill with it. We had to take a trip out to the doctors, but it wasn’t easy. Mother had buckled me in, tight, as the little rowboat was pulled out. Ever felt sick, and then been shoved out onto the waters? I’ll tell you something, it doesn’t make you feel better, that’s for sure. This lighthouse sucked. I’m sure no one considered the fact that I can’t walk, either, when moving into this lighthouse. Can’t walk, can’t swim, can’t row. The parents seem to want to go out less now they have to row across the sea to land. When I was 255 days old we went for a roll around the neighbourhood of the old house, and I saw the cat I love, the birds eating their seeds and the flower with the giant yellow head. I remember smiling at these things with such joy. Now, the parents complain that the pram doesn’t fit on the boat too well, so every time we go out I’m in a sling, with limited wiggle room and occasional limited view. I could tell you the colour of every thread on Mother’s coat, but not the colour of the flowers now. I can’t turn my head enough to look. It’s alright for them, they can walk. Know what else they never considered? The nappy bin. It was fine when they could dispose of my nappies in the bins outside and the men in the vans collected them each week. Now, they stay put much longer. And I can’t help it, but they don’t smell good. Honestly, if I was in charge we wouldn’t be here. But Father keeps telling me to wait. Apparently if I stay up late enough there is something to make this worthwhile. So tonight I’m staying up. I’m going to find out what this amazing thing is. Mother is carrying me outside, and it’s cold. Don’t make me add this to my list of reasons why this move was a terrible idea. The sky is almost pitch black, bar the scattered stars shining from above. I must admit, it is beautiful. Then I see it. And it was spectacular. A beam of yellow white light flashed across the sky, circling from the left to the right, and disappearing behind us. Round, and round, and round and round. Maybe this isn’t so bad?