Figuring Out Fatherhood: A day in the life of my two-year-old son
6.00am: Yaaaawn. What time is it? Not that it matters, I can't tell the time. If someone was to show me a clock I'd probably just try to pull it apart, or at the very least put it on the floor and sit on it. Who's this under my arm? Oh, hi Ted! Sweet, lovely Ted. I don't care that your fur is matted and you smell of saliva and sweat, Ted. I'll never let them wash you.
6.01am: I'm bored. It's dark outside, surely it's time to get up? I know, I'll test the waters by singing a bit of 'Price Tag' by Jessie J. Ain't about the – cha-ching cha-ching, ain't abou- who's that from the other room telling me to be quiet? Is that mum? Well, if they're awake, I'd better get up.
6.30am: Aah, Shreddies. I love Shreddies. Whoops, dropped one on the floor. And another one. That one has slithered down inside the neck of my pyjama top. Never mind. I think I'll tip the milk onto the table now, and put my hands in it.
6.45am: I've done a poo in my nappy, but decided not to tell anyone. They'll find out soon enough.
7.20am: Dad's discovered the poo, and is currently muttering to himself whilst pawing at my buttocks with a handful of Wet Wipes. He gets me dressed.
"I want to wear my dinosaur shirt!" I yell.
He tugs a shirt over my head. "Red dinosaur!" I say proudly, jabbing a podgy finger onto my chest.
"No, blue dinosaur," he responds. Whatever. What does he know?
7.30am: Dad's gone to work now, after giving me a sloppy kiss. Is that relief I saw in his eyes as he closed the front door?
9.00am: Off to nursery. Ali's my helper. I love Ali. I throw water and sand at her to demonstrate my love, but she just tells me off.
10.15am: Pushed over a snotty toddler, the chubby one with the long blonde hair. Got told off.
11.30am: Did an awesome painting, nice broad brush strokes, vivid colours. Couldn't find any paper, so I did it on my shirt. Got told off.
12.00pm: Sitting in a circle with the other children. Ali asks if anyone would like to sing a song. 'Who Let The Dogs Out!' I shout, but she ignores me.
1.00pm: Home from nursery, off to see Grandma. Wanted a biscuit.
But all she did was pick me up and do that thing that grown-ups do when they shake their face in your stomach and make a noise.
Biscuit, I say, deadpan. Still no biscuit, just more face-shaking.
1.20pm: Done a poo. Haven't told anyone. I did it as kind of revenge for the lack of a biscuit.
2.30pm: Just fell off the arm of the settee. Toppled over backwards, just like a scuba diver. Smacked my head on the floor. Cried for ages. Milked it a bit, if I'm honest, but I got some nice hugs.
4.00pm: I'm bored of watching TV. Instead, I lift up my shirt and pretend to breastfeed Ted, just like mum's doing with that new baby that suddenly appeared. Why is everyone laughing at me?
5.30pm: DAD'S HOME! I run up to him and give him a hug, accidentally headbutting him in the crotch. He doubles over, either in pain or to give me a cuddle, I'm not sure which.
6.00pm: As a reward for eating all my carrots Mum gives me extra blueberries for pudding and a bit of cake. My older brother didn't get any pudding for refusing to eat his vegetables.
What they don't realise is that I actually really like carrots. Suckers!
6.30pm: Time for bed. Dad brushes my teeth, gets me into my pyjamas and reads me and my brother a story. I'm cuddling Ted again, burrowing under the quilt. Dad looks tired; a long day at the office. I give him a cuddle, and he perks up.
7.00pm: Long after the lights have gone out, my brother and I are still laughing and yelling, completely ignoring the stern calls from downstairs. I am getting a bit tired though. Should probably go to sleep; I have a busy day tomorrow. We're going to the park. It's a hard life.