The 'life changing' world of modern day parenting

Over the festive break the less intelligent of the two offspring my parents gave life to declared, with an unfounded air of wisdom, that having children has made him better placed to pass judgement on practically everything.

“Until you’ve had children you don’t know what it’s like. It’s life changing and I know so much more about the world than people who don’t have children,” he said. 

In this one sweeping statement he categorised himself among an overcrowded pigeon hole jammed full of ill equipped human beings, including all the positive DNA fodder ever to grace the screens of Jeremy Kyle.

Delivering his beliefs with all the conviction that his status, as father of two, made him wholly capable of successfully fulfilling a top role for NASA, I can picture the interviews for future space expeditions now:

“I’m sorry Mr Jones, you seem to have excessive experience in our field but Wayne has a DNA certificate from the Jeremy Kyle show that states he IS the real dad.”

Like all socially superior siblings, I like an argument.

“I think it’s entirely egotistical to want to bring more children into existence, adding to an already overcrowded population when there are already so many unfortunate youngsters out there in need of a loving and supportive home.”

“I totally agree, I don’t think anyone should have more than two children and then if they want any more they can adopt,” he said, totally disagreeing.

Sadly my brother is just one example of a whole strain of new-aged delusional parents who are seemingly oblivious, until they make a baby, to a phenomenon that has been occurring since the beginning of time. That you’ll have to look after it.

We’ve all been born, it’s nothing special. And being part of the baby making process does not make you more worldly wise than the remaining childless population.

Brother Banks then went off on a tangent about the risks of adoption, mainly the possibility of raising an axe murderer in a war between nature and nurture, losing my parents and myself entirely.

My Christmas loathing father’s attention turned to the television: “Here here, I totally agree,” he shouted at Michael Caine’s outburst at Kermit the Frog.

Offering to do a trade-off, my class of 30 children with varying levels of autism, most with an inability to speak English and severe behavioural issues, for his two, for one day, he reiterated: “It’s totally different when you’ve got your own, you don’t know what it’s like. It’s much harder to look after two, you have them from first thing in the morning.”

My brother had offered to do the parenting the following morning, to let his wife have a well- deserved lie in. I went downstairs at 9.30am to discover two children and not an adult in sight.

“Where’s daddy?” I asked.

“He put Finding Nemo on and went back to bed, I went upstairs after him and asked him for some breakfast but he said he needed to get to the next level on Temple Run,” offered Jack.

“Please can I take my nappy off?” asked Issy, tugging at her urine drenched pyjamas.

I stand corrected.