Alright settle down all of you who read this blog and fit in to the subset of people who constantly badger me and The Wife to have kids, she's not pregnant, not yet anyway. No this is about when we do have kids how i will be ready for the whole gamut of looking after young girls. I assume that with high spa usage i will be unable to have boys.

You see, The Wife, thoughtful and charming lady that she is, has me on a highly tailored and specialized training program for fatherhood. It helps that i am already one of those most irritating of people, a morning person. I also am pretty regimented in the mornings which makes things easier. I have also taken to making up and singing silly songs at the top of my voice to try and raise The Wife from the dead. Doesn't work.

The morning typically goes like this.

Alarm goes off, on a different floor so i make sure i get out of bed. I wander down, squeeze my glass of juice and drink it while i prepare The Wifes breakfast and juice. I take it upstairs to her and at this stage she is training me to deal with a cute 5 year old girl. She mumbles as i shake her and turns away, pulling the covers up over her head and curling into a ball. Ahh, so adorable, I'll give he a little more sleep.

I go off to make my breakfast and first cup of coffee and when i return The Wife has moved onto the thirteen year old training session. Along with bleary eyes and lethargic movements comes the vacant stare and the complaints. "its too early to be up", "it's too cold" and "can you get me a jumper". I pay little attention and read the online papers and the blogs before going and getting the large crowbar and forcing her from the bed.

The final stage is the sixteen year old girl. This is demonstrated by the 45min shower that follows being tossed out of bed. I feed all the animals and iron my shirt before claiming the shower for a quick rinse and I'm off to work. Its quite possible that by the time The Wife leaves for work she has gone back to her true age, but when i leave she is still standing in front of her clothes in a towel, absentmindedly picking at random bits of clothing.

Guess i'll just have to sing louder.

Bloody big towtruck and lots of caffiene.

Fit for what