Before you have children you will believe all sorts of things about the kind of parent you will be.
Like, how you will never, ever let your kid watch television. Their days will be so filled with, like, wooden toys and The Guardian Weekly Junior and wholesome moments of togetherness; but then they’ll start to say ‘Gracias’ and Toucan with a Spanish inflection and you’ll be like, I love you, Dora. Thanks for babysitting my kids while I was on the internet.
Theo: “Mama, where is my poo?”
Alice: “…is this a trick question?”
Theo: “It’s in my bottom! I need to eat some more so the food will push the poo out. Can I have a chicken sandwich?”
Theo: “You’ve got to tingle his twister, Mama. It’s what makes him go!”
Alice: “…Sounds like a lot of fellers I know, Bubba.”
Theo: “His name is Long Arms! He plays his robot radio show and bakes robot cakes which he cuts with a knife in his hand! Then he answers his email and says blah blah blah…”
Seriously, I think I may have gone on a date with this guy?