October, 2006:

I’ve been accepted as a regular contributor on the communal blog Dadbloggers. I’ll be posting on the 19th of every month. My first effort is online now if you fancy having a look at it.

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Dan is working tomorrow and we’re at the hospital on Friday, so today was the last day it would be just the 3 of us together.

Dan has previously written about how he feels guilty for Amy losing out when the baby comes, but I’ve never felt that way. Somehow this morning when he mentioned it was our last day together, I felt really sad. I know things are only for the better and I am really pleased Amy is going to have a sibling but today felt poignant.

Dan asked Amy what she wanted to do and she named a list of activities. We ended up editing this slightly but agreed we would take her to the toy shop to buy some cars, Tropical World and a play gym. We even threw in a trip to McDonalds at lunchtime. She seemed quite excited at the prospect but then managed to get progressively grumpy as the day wore on.

As Dan pointed out, starting the day in Toys’R’Us and not letting her buy everything in the shop was not the best idea. We then went to Next where she tried on some shoes but again we wouldn’t let her buy the ones that were 2 sizes too small, another black mark for Mummy and Daddy.

McDonalds went ok, as did Tropical World. We then had our next black mark when the pub with play gym was shut for refurbishment. I made several frantic phone calls to friends, relatives and directory enquiries to find an alternative venue whilst Dan tried to stop Amy from crying. Eventually we ended up at the Three Nuns Inn in Mirfield in a Wacky Warehouse. Amy seemed to like it but we weren’t so impressed with the sickly yellow lighting. Never mind, it was all about Amy after all.

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Many people dismiss the government health warnings on cigarettes as evidence of an over involved nanny state. Equally they scoff at “caution, this coffee may be hot” or “do not place plastic bag over head” signs printed on various consumer goods. But not me. I’m well aware that I’m a bumbling idiot and need all the help I can get to stay on the straight and narrow. I’m the guy who was emptying the mop bucket into the air vents of the cellar thinking they were the drains, then wondered where all the flooding was coming from. I’m also the guy who accidentally changed the language of his mobile phone to German then seriously considered throwing it away as the predictive text messaging was acting all weird.

So I’m in favour of warning labels. In fact I think there should be more of them. In particular I believe all children’s books over a certain length should bear the following advice in large, preferably flashing, letters.

Warning! This book is over 1000 words long. Any attempt to read this to your child as a bedtime story will result in you missing the first 15 minutes of that film you were planning on watching. You know, that one with the guy out of Friends in it.

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On my days off I try to take Holly our dog with me whenever I leave the house. This has less to do with the special bond between man’s best friend and its owner as it does my not trusting her not to piss all over the kitchen floor while I’m out.

I was driving along with both Amy and Holly in the backseat when, for a reason known only to herself, Amy decided that Holly needed to move.

“Get in the boot Holly” she demanded. “Holly naughty dog, get in the boot. GET IN THE BOOT HOLLY!”

The dog took absolutely no notice of her whatsoever.

Holly has always her place in the family pack pretty much figured out. Kerry is at the head, I am the rank and file, and she brings up the rear. I’m not sure where Holly places Amy in all of this. To be honest she rarely even acknowledges her existence. As far as Amy is concerned Holly adopts the policy of don’t ask, don’t tell. Oh yes, she’ll move out of the way if a over excited two year old comes thundering towards her, and will shoot us a pained look if she suddenly finds a woolly hat being inexpertly jammed on her head. But should the attention becomes too sustained she will generally skulk upstairs and hide under a bed until she has been forgotten about.

But things are changing. Amy is becoming increasingly interested in Holly as a being who I can boss around. On walks Amy insists on holding the lead, she gains great pleasure in helping us give her dog food, and she’s constantly getting out Holly’s toys and demanding that she plays with them.

Amy’s a loving and gentle soul at heart, and all this unwanted attention is lavished with as much tenderness as a galumphing two year old can muster (which, frankly, isn’t much). I am also confident in the temperament of our dog, and am secure in the belief that Holly would never turn on her. But it can’t go on like this for ever. There is going to be a time when Holly makes a decision that Amy is no longer a puppy and has graduated to be a part of the pack hierarchy. She will decide that Amy has to be acknowledged and her directions have to be obeyed.

I think this time is coming soon.

And just as I got a lump in my throat when Amy started walking, or when she began using cutlery, or when she graduated to the big room in nursery; there will be a bittersweet tear in my eye when Amy tells Holly to go and have a poo in the garden. And she does.

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