So, here it is, my first ever blog post. My wife is pregnant, AGAIN, so I'm currently that strange mix of anxiety and excitement, that you usually only associate with the Nemesis at Alton Towers, or being handed a flaming sambuca.

But the baby isn't due until the end of January next year, so that gives me a good 6 months to mull it over.

My wife and I were sat, waiting for my daughter Scarlett to go for her 2nd poo in as many minutes, back in April, when we decided to bring up the conversation about having another child. If you had asked me 2 years ago, when we were in between Scarlett teething and teaching her it wasn't ok to shit where she liked and I would've said "no way man, no way am I having another child". Now it's not because I don't love my child, obviously. She's amazing, I can't imagine life without her, blah blah blah. I LOVE HER........... But listen, I'm a man, sometimes it's all just a bit, you know? AARRRGGHHHH. Yeah???? It's bloody hard work, sometimes tedious, sometimes tiring, sometimes fucking irritating. Don't get me wrong, I adore it when Scarlett says to me, things like: "daddy, I love you" or "you're my hero dad" things like that. But they're few and far between, or just said because she's kissing my arse, because I'm angry that (1) she trod on my foot AGAIN, or (2) spilled her drink on my phone, or (3) stood in front of the TV when Kevin Pietersen hit the winning runs in a test match. I'm much more likely to hear Scarlett ask me for chocolate, or to turn the light on so she can go for a wee, or what my penis is for the 50th time.

But something clicked, I wanted another child. The sadistic node in my frontal lobe got a short, or got a bit wet, or unplugged, or something and it all made sense. So that's where we are now, 6 months from being a family of four. I'm not shitting myself just yet, but as sure as an Asda employee will cough right in your face, I will start worrying. But I'm happy, I'm thankful and I'm interested to see what happens. So let's see what happens, it could get weird.